


Becoming

by burneraccount_1990



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Mythology
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Smut, Existentialism, F/M, Fantasy, Romance, ennui
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burneraccount_1990/pseuds/burneraccount_1990
Summary: It was different this time. His hand reached out, cupping her face. Persephone shut her eyes when she felt his lips touch her forehead. The waterfall that guarded the mouth of cave roared, though its sound was a distant and gentle rush in her ears. She felt his warm breath tickle her face, his scent of earth and sweat filling her nose. He sighed.“Do you want this?”“Yes,” she answered.---Yet another H&P retelling. I'm here to practice writing and have fun. Please enjoy.





	1. Prologue

Gold streaks of early morning sunlight peeked through the leaves of the trees, warmed the dewy grass on the ground. The flowers stood in a glade, their stems and petals gently swaying in waves of yellows and pinks and blues. Brown, weathered hands touched the petals, absorbed their warmth. The owner of the hands sighed contentedly and pulled at a stem, brought the flower to her nose, inhaled its sweet scent.

Quietly she observed the rustling of the leaves and the quick, wary scuttling of small creatures. The colors, the warmth, the forest brimming with life: the work of her talented daughter. She smiled, though her joy waned quickly.

Indeed, even as the sun's early brightness caressed the forest to wakefulness, a deep, indefatigable cold began to take root. The chill sank slowly into her flesh as well; it was only her strength as the Lady of Harvest that kept her from freezing in place. Soon, the flowers' vibrant colors drained, their once-green stems turning brown and dead. A path of decay cut through the green of the glade: methodic, sure footsteps walking swiftly through the Land of the Living.

Death's Master moved through shadows of the trees, unseen though not unnoticed; the piercing cold and decay heralded his arrival.

The Lady wrapped her wool blanket tightly around herself, but the biting air did not abate.

"Brother," she said, struggling against the cold, "remove your helm so that I may see you." Metal crashed against the ground, dropped carelessly and landing heavily. Even so, she could not see him clearly, for he had obscured himself in darkness and did not yet wish to be seen. As she reached back into the halls of her memory, she found that she could not remember what he looked like. Perhaps he had always been darkness incarnate. Or perhaps he had been fully subsumed into the power of his realm…

At that thought, the Lady released a quick breath. For the first time since the war, she felt fear grip her heart, though this fear was not for her own fate, but for that of her daughter's.

A sharp noise emanated from him, loud and all-encompassing. He was speaking to her, she knew. Yet his words sounded like the very earth before her was being rent asunder. She could not understand him.

"Brother, please!" She looked at the dark figure in front of her—obstinate, unforgiving, frigid—and she cried out.

And, soon as he had come, he was gone. The warmth returned, the decay subsided. Strong hands gripped her shoulders.

"He cannot make himself understood in the Land of the Living anymore, dear sister." His voice rumbled through her like thunder. She turned to him, pressed her face into his broad chest, and wept.

"He will come for her soon. Is that what will become of my daughter?" She grasped at his shoulders.

"Perhaps. But perhaps not. It is different on the mountain. He is different."

She looked up into his eyes, gray inscrutable storm clouds, and she vowed that she would not allow her daughter to become a dark shade of her former self.


	2. Of Plans and Meetings

The Lord of Oceans sat, reaching his awareness out to the depths of his realms. Within himself, he felt its churning seas and crashing waves while his brothers bickered before him.

"The time has come for you to take your bride."

"I've no interest in an ignorant child."

"She is not a child, Aidon."

"I've no interest in an ignorant woman."

"How do you know she is ignorant?"

"Our sister raised her. I know."

"Of course. You know so much, Aidon, slinking about in that dark realm of yours, visiting only when summoned here. You've never even met the girl, and yet you simply know that she is an ignorant child. Your omniscience amazes me, truly. Would that _I_ could have drawn the short straw myself and gained your land of shades instead of this one. My knowledge would be far better for it, it seems."

"...Tread lightly, little brother."

On and on the argument went, ebbing and flowing like the tides the Ocean Lord ruled over, until finally Aidon acquiesced to the wishes of their king. Soon Aidon strode by, his heavy footsteps ringing in the Ocean Lord's ears.

"Brother," is all Aidon said by way of goodbye, and the Ocean Lord caught only a short glimpse of his sibling's face through the openings in his helm. He could not remember the last time he had seen his brother's face clearly—or if, indeed, he had _ever_ seen his brother's face clearly. A tired sigh made the Ocean Lord return his focus back to his king.

"What am I going to do with him?"

"Leave him be?"

"A lord must have an heir."

"A human lord, maybe."

" _All_ lords must have an heir."

The Ocean Lord shrugged, put a date between his teeth, and bit down. The fruit's soft flesh burst against his tongue and brought him an immense pleasure. The food on the mountain was always better than in the banquets of the sea.

"Marry that poor girl off to another family," the Ocean Lord said, grabbing another date, "create an alliance. Those northerners could use another flower goddess."

"I will not ignore the demands of prophecy, Poseidon."

"Then you have your answer."

"So it seems. When did you become so even-tempered and wise?"

Poseidon only smiled in answer.

* * *

Kora tugged on the end of her dress, despairing at the texture of the rough, homespun fabric between her fingers. Aphrodite stood before her, beauty among beauties, dressed in soft silk that served only to accentuate the curves of her body. She was the epitome of femininity, and Kora felt like a bag of dirty wheat in comparison.

She did not belong at court among illustrious lords and ladies, clearly. After all, it had only been a day since she learned her father was not simply a lord, but indeed the king of their worldly sphere. Suddenly she'd been whisked away to court by her newly-discovered father, seeing men and women she had only previously heard about in stories. But they weren't just stories anymore; they were flesh and blood people, as real as the humans she interacted with every day. She saw Ares boasting with his great axe and mane of fire; she saw Athena, feathered and fierce, regaling her students with tales of hard-won battles, and many other immortals besides. The chamber was alight with raucous laughter and conversation. She felt incredibly out of place.

Rather abruptly, the chatter lowered to a low rumble and then stopped entirely. Kora traced Aphrodite's eyeline, saw the man who had caused everyone to cease their conversations and stare. And he stopped what he had been doing too, it seemed; stopped walking mid-stride, even. He appeared to be looking at her, just as she was looking at him. Caught.

_Stars above, he is tall_ , thought Kora. It was true. Even for an immortal, he was tall, and his helm served to make him look even taller. Almost immediately he appeared in front of her, his great size threatening to swallow her up. Looming; he was _looming_ over her. For the first time that evening, Kora felt irritated instead of embarrassed. How dare he? She gathered her courage, prepared to spit out the most acerbic insult she could think of.

She looked up at him and her words turned to ash on her tongue. Through the visor of his helm she saw a single, sharp blue eye; an eye so brightly blue she thought it almost glowed—though it had no twin that she could see.

"You are Demeter's daughter," he said. His voice was deep and somewhat muffled through the helm. His words surprised her; her father hadn't officially announced who she was at court. For all anyone knew, she was yet another forest nymph the king had taken a special liking to. She could easily pass for one, with her unkempt hair and sack of a dress; and the queen had treated her as such too, illegitimate child of the king though she actually was. Everyone seemed keen on ignoring her, glancing only occasionally in her direction with vague disgust, and generally treating her like one might treat a rather large but benign insect.

Yet this stranger knew she was Demeter's daughter.

And she felt stupid, because she did not immediately recognize who _he_ was; humans rarely spoke of him, and when they did, it was always in harsh whispers and curses. Even still, he was looking at her, assessing her, it seemed.

"Y-yes, my lord—"

His harsh gaze pierced through her eyes and into her skull, making her feel exposed and, worst of all, _seen_. Truly, deeply seen. She could almost feel him inside her mind, rooting around for weakness; and within herself, she saw him, unarmored and as vulnerable as she. He grunted, a quick, short sound of unexpected pain and annoyance, and she shuddered in response. It was in that moment that she realized the man who stood before her was the Lord of the Dead, and she stumbled back, alarmed, only to be caught and steadied by his gloved hand on her arm.

"Well met. Excuse me."

There he left her, in the hall of immortals, without another word, and the lords and ladies that had ignored her for a better part of the evening now swarmed around her like wasps. Where she had once been a wilting flower in their presence, they now saw a fertile blossom, ripe with nectar—and naivety to exploit. All around her, Kora saw predators; Ares's newly piqued interest particularly frightened her. Of all the immortals, she knew him to be one of the most taciturn and quick to anger.

"Why would our dear uncle bother to speak a word to you?" Ares asked, stepping closer. His mane of fire grew brighter, illuminating his ash-gray skin. The veins of his thick neck bulged out. He did not look human, or even close to it.

"Idiot. She's yet another sibling, can't you see?" Athena remarked. This close, Kora could see flecks of gold in the black feathers that stemmed from her arms. "At least this one isn't some horrible half-breed."

"I...I don't—" It was too much; the immortals were crowding around her, each more incredible-looking than the last. They were all so close. Panic started to rise in her. She couldn't breathe.

"Stars above, why don't you all leave the young lady alone?" The voice was a woman's, soft but commanding. Kora immediately knew that it was Aphrodite, and gave praise to the stars silently for her good fortune. "'Tis bad enough that she had to deal with that boor of a man already. Give the girl some space."

The immortals listened, though Ares winked defiantly at his ex-lover. His wolfish grin made Kora slightly nauseous, and soon she found herself mercifully being sat down on a bench in the outer garden, with Aphrodite rubbing her back soothingly, almost absent-mindedly.

"They're all children, the lot of them. And they wonder why the mortals make fewer sacrifices every year? Please. Absolute children," she said. She took Kora's hands in hers. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Thank you, Lady Aphrodite."

"Please, just call me Dite. Honorifics have never suited me."

Kora looked down at the hands holding hers and saw that they were perfect. Her skin was a honey brown that shown almost like gold, smooth to the touch and clean. In comparison, Kora's hands were rough and mannish; calloused from her time spent tending gardens and helping her mother in the fields. She immediately removed her hands from Aphrodite's kind hold. She did not want to soil the Lady of Love and Beauty.

Aphrodite smiled sadly at her, but did not protest.

From her bench, Kora looked out to the garden, viewed the immaculate statues of the immortals. Kora searched and searched and searched, but—

"You'll not find his likeness here," Aphrodite commented, her voice light. "He does not consider himself to be of the mountain."

"The mortals are right to fear him," Kora said. She crossed her arms. "He is...so cold and...large."

Aphrodite laughed, and the sound was wonderful but confusing. Kora's ears burned.

"Why do you laugh, Lady Aphro—I mean, Dite?"

"Because, darling, young Kora, you have so much to learn." Kora felt Aphrodite's perfect hand cup her cheek. She had to concentrate to keep her mouth from hanging open.

"The mortals have many reasons to fear many of the lords and ladies in that room," she continued. "They are capricious and petulant, and very often too powerful for their own good. Ares revels in war and destruction and treats the mortals as mere toys for his games but so, too, do the others. Poseidon is as gracious as he is hateful, and you can never be sure what he will be most like on a given day. The Master of Death, brutish as he is at times, is none of those things."

Kora wanted to believe her. Intimidating as she was, Kora felt that she could trust the Lady, certainly more so than the other immortals. But when she thought of Death's Master, all she felt was a frigid dread. His glowing eye burned within her mind, cold as ice and yet as blue and bright as a searing flame.

Kora held herself tighter. She was glad he kept no statue on the mountain.

She hoped to never see him again.


	3. Chapter 2: The Shades of Hades

_ Mother, where is my mother?  _

_ Everything hurts… _

_ I need to find my Da, I can’t find my Da… _

Aidon shut his eyes, grit his teeth. The voices of new shades grew louder with every passing day; their unrelenting cries pounded behind his eyes, each one demanding to be heard. His skull throbbed, a brain-case threatening to split in two. Leaning forward, he pressed his palms to his eyes in a vain attempt to relieve the discomfort. 

_ My family, my family… _

_ Please help me… _

_ Penelope, where are you?  _

_ I’m so cold... _

_ My lord… _

_ My lord.... _

_ “My Lord Aidoneus.” _

He opened his eyes, saw his servant Trico kneeling before him. Aidon regarded him quietly. Trico served faithfully and earnestly, needing a purpose in the afterlife. The shade had been a mortal youth of low birth, killed in battle before he turned twenty. Not yet twenty, yet cut down brutally before he could even grow a proper beard. An adult by mortal reckoning, though in many ways, Trico was still only a boy. 

The wasted life of a used young man; the plaything of older, richer men who would very likely never see battle. Aidon hated such men: the exploiters and hypocrites of the world who accumulated wealth through the suffering of lower castes. He knew the suffering and pain of his subjects intimately, saw the inner heart of every man and woman he judged, and as a result, sought to make their afterlife free from such earthly agony. That is, except, for the men who specialized in causing the pain; for them, he devised special punishments only possible in the region of Tartarus—a region whose depths even  _ he _ feared to fully explore. 

“What it is it, Trico?” Aidon asked, returning from his reverie. His head felt close to bursting. 

“The Witch of the Crossroads requests your presence, she says it is urgent.” 

Aidon nodded, draping his body in shadow and arriving instantly at the door of Hecate’s humble home. A simple hut, carved from the small tributary roots of one of the great World Trees, served as her abode. 

He rapped his hand lightly against the door.

“Come in,” Hecate said. “Mind your head.” 

Aidon stepped inside, bending at the waist—crouching, really—to avoid hitting his throbbing skull against the low ceiling of Hecate’s hut. Her back was still towards him. 

“Hecate,” he said, attempting to get her attention once more, “you requested my presence. Trico said that the matter was urgent.”

“I made some tea,” she responded. Her tone was relaxed and decidedly not urgent. “A friend brought it to me from the Eastern Sphere. Help yourself.”

“Hecate, I have other duties to attend to—”

“Relax, my lord. The matter is urgent, but not so urgent that we cannot have some tea and discussion beforehand.” 

The cries of shades resounded in his mind once more, ushering in a wave of vertigo and nausea. He tightly gripped the back of the wooden chair in front of him, keeping his balance. His vision, already handicapped, began to blur. 

“You’re right,” he conceded. He had no wish to argue with her, not in this state. “I think it would be best if I sat down.” Sitting brought instant relief to his dizziness, though the voices of the shades persisted, drumming in his mind incessantly. Impulsively, he took a sip of the hot drink in front of him, grimaced, and placed the cup back on the table. He heard Hecate’s soft chuckle. 

“Not to your liking, eh?”

“I don’t understand how you can drink such a foul liquid, let alone enjoy it.”

Hecate laughed, setting a bowl of pistachio pudding in front of him as she joined him at the table. Aidon eyed the pudding ruefully; he was hungry, but nausea still roiled in his stomach. 

“I have a refined palate, Aidon, whereas you...well, you still prefer sweets to anything else.”

“Now, now,” he tsked, waving a finger playfully, “don’t go spreading around knowledge of my vices. I have, ah, an image to maintain, after all.” He wanted to cringe; his voice sounded weak. 

“Oh how could I forget? The Lord of the Dead must be so intimidating that mortals wet themselves at the mere mention of his many, many names. It is a requirement for the position.”

“Just so,” he said, doing his best to smile. Hecate’s midnight gaze grew concerned. 

“You’re not well.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve not touched your food, my lord.”

“I’m fine, Hecate.” Just then, the inconsolable cry of a human infant echoed loudly through his mind, causing him to clench his fists tightly. “It’s nothing.”

Hecate remained unimpressed and unconvinced, but she did not press him further. She took a sip of her tea, leaned back in her seat.

“What of your betrothed?”

_ Messy _ , he thought. The girl was of the earth, like her mother: her skin a mahogany brown, her hair a bedraggled mess of tight, golden red curls that framed her freckled face. It was clear that she had never been to court before. Irritated with the question, Aidon’s mind raced. 

_ Inexperienced _ . _ Naive _ .  _ Little more than a child _ . 

Then he thought of her arms, her well defined shoulders and collar bone. Well made, and in stark contrast to the dirty rags she wore. She had the body of a warrior, and the spirit of one, too. The way she looked at him, the anger in her eyes had struck him like a viper, two emeralds seething. He hadn’t seen such a vibrant green before and ended up scrutinizing her longer than he should have, transfixed. 

Hecate took another sip from her tea, looked at him expectantly. The delay in his answer amused her, he could tell. 

He shut his eyes. His betrothed was of the earth: the fact seemed strangely poetic. Mortals came from the earth, were molded from it, born from it—and to the earth they returned. In battle, humans dropped to the ground, dug their fingers into the dirt; in return, the soil sheltered them, protected them. Face and belly pressed into the ground, arrows and catapult debris became a smaller worry.  _ Like a mother comforts a suckling babe, so too does the soil of Gaia comfort humans _ , Aidon said to himself. The mortals may bury or burn their dead, but in the end, this difference does not matter; their ashes or bones return to the earth, all the same. Indeed, Aidon knew that in Death’s presence, human beings worshipped only Gaia, in all worldly spheres. Perhaps it was fitting, then, that his consort would command a similar power. Perhaps it would prove to be a boon, to have such a wife. 

And yet…. it was clear to him that Kora knew little in the ways of the immortals. Demeter had seen to that, in an attempt to keep her daughter simple and unassuming—and to be of very little use for anything apart from growing flowers and threshing crops. 

  
  


Sighing, he said at last, “She seems a poor match.”

“That’s all?”

“We didn’t speak.”

“Hardly surprising that the Lord of the Dead isn’t one for much words.” She laughed. “What  _ did  _ you do? Menace her with your height?”

“You mock me. But yes, I suppose I did. She stumbled away from me.”

“Stars, Aidon, you can be such an oaf.”

“Good. Maybe Zeus will recognize my oafishness and marry his child off to someone else.” 

“Please, Aidon, you jest.” 

“I don’t. The girl is a wood sprite.”

“No!” Hecate’s rich laughter filled the hut. 

“She had leaves and twigs sticking out of her hair.” 

“Now you’re the one who’s mocking me, my lord. Demeter would not send her daughter to court in such a state. Unless—you’re serious aren’t you?  _ Stars above _ , the poor girl!”

“And she was dressed in a wool sack. She smelled like a goat,” he said, holding his nose and grinning. He enjoyed making Hecate laugh.  _ What would it be like to make Kora laugh? _ he wondered. He imagined the sound of her voice: rich and sweet like honey, even in her fear. Would she be surprised that he, the Lord of the Dead, he that frightened her so, could make her laugh? How delicious would her look of surprise be? And what other responses could he elicit from her…

_ Enough _ . He drowned the intrusive thoughts. 

“I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful? Yes. Yes, I suppose she’s beautiful if you’re partial to unkempt women who smell like animals.”

“Come now, Aidon, you spent the better part of a minute thinking about the girl. I see that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The stupid look all men get when they think about the beautiful woman they want to bed.”

“I don’t want to bed her,” he scoffed, though his indignation was half-hearted at best. 

“You may be able to lie to yourself, Aidon, but you can’t lie to me. I know you too well.” 

“We’ll see—”

In that moment, a surge of pained voices racked his mind and body. He doubled over in his seat. 

_ Mother, mother, mother… _

_ They stole from me _

_ I can’t find my family… _

_ The pain...the pain... _

_ Murdered...murdered… _

Aidon didn’t know how long he sat there; each passing voice slowed time, the agony of every shade piercing through him and setting his skin aflame, until at last he thought he stood at the edge of eternity. Within himself, he saw Kora’s face, though it was changed. No longer was she the simple girl he looked over while on the mountain; no, she was now a woman, regal and defiant. She was now the glimpse of the strength he saw in her eyes, personified; the glimpse that had caused him to recoil and retreat. 

A wet cloth on his face brought him back to the present. Hecate was saying something to him, though her words sounded muffled, as if she were speaking to him through water. 

“What?” he asked.

“You’re beginning to worry me, Aidoneus,” she repeated, gently. “And not just me. Morpheus and Hypnos are beginning to talk.”

“Let them talk,” Aidon said, attempting to stand—only to immediately sit back down. Hecate’s hut spun before him; he would not be able to find his footing for quite some time. He groaned. “How long have I been here?”

“Long enough, Aidon.”

He looked at the pistachio pudding, still untouched. Thoughts of eating twisted his stomach into knots. 

“Why did you summon me?” he asked, his jaw tight.

Hecate removed the cloth from his forehead, sat back in her chair. 

She looked at him, and said simply, “Tartarus is growing.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please leave your feedback in the comments! Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 3: Under the Tutelage of Ladies

In the days that followed Kora’s introduction to the Olympian court, she began to feel more comfortable with her regal surroundings, and indeed, her heritage. Aphrodite guided her when she could, teaching her in the intricacies and political intrigue of courtly life, and instructing her in the ways of proper fashion. 

“A noble woman must be learned in letters and in crafts, yet she must also know how to dance and be festive,” the Lady of Love and Beauty said, her voice light and jovial. Kora thought that she moved through crowds as if carried by a cloud; she floated gracefully from one group of chattering immortals to the next. She was a butterfly and the immortals were her flowers. Kora wanted to be like her.

“I’m not sure I have those skills, Dite. My mother...well, my mother only ever taught me about harvesting and gardening.”

“Silly girl,” the Lady giggled, throwing her rich brown hair over her shoulder, “in time, you will learn those skills. ‘Tis the very reason you are here. Thou art of royal blood and thou art meant for so much more than harvesting and growing flowers, dear Kora. Would that you could only see this fact plainly within yourself.”

_ But what is wrong with living the simple life of a farmer? _ Kora wanted to ask.  _ Mother and I provide the realm with bread and honey _ ... Yet Kora held her tongue and smiled. The Lady was simply offering advice; Kora knew that she would do well to heed it. 

“I will try—”

“I might’ve known that this harlot would be filling your small mind with nonsense.” The voice was deep, and yet clearly a woman’s. Kora turned and saw that the voice belonged to Athena.

“Parthenos,” the Lady said, “so nice of you to join us. Your feathers could use some pruning, it seems.”

Athena crossed her arms, though her expression remained stoic. She had the same gray eyes as the King, and in them Kora saw both cunning and wisdom. 

“Your infant is causing a row,” Athena said, nonchalantly. 

“Oh dear, that’s not good…” The Lady attempted to keep her tone casual, but for the first time since Kora met her, Aphrodite seemed to be taken off guard. 

“Better go see to it that he doesn’t start a war.”

“Yes, of course. Athena,” she said, nodding curtly at the King’s chief strategist. “Kora, I shall see you soon to continue your lessons. We’ll make a courtesan of you yet.”

“Yes, Dite,” Kora said, and the Lady smiled as she left their small corner of the pavillion. That her lessons in courtly manners had been cut short did not matter to Kora in the slightest, as the sight of the Lady’s generous smile made her feel warm and happy. 

“You call her  _ Dite _ ?” Athena scoffed. “Has she tied strings around your wrists and ankles and made you sing and dance for her as well, hmm? Answer me, you dirty peasant.” Her words burned, and so acerbic and biting was her tone, that Kora wanted to weep. 

“She means to turn you into a whore, you know,” Athena continued, inspecting the feathers on her forearms. They did look slightly disheveled, though Kora had no desire to point this out to the cruel goddess. 

“Though I suppose it  _ is _ a wasted effort. After all,” Athena said, looking Kora up and down, “you are simply a bastard, and one among hundreds at that. I see your watery eyes. Do not weep; your tears will not be enough to clean the trail of filth you’ve left in your wake. The earth clings to your skin like a parasite, and,” Athena curled her lip, “you smell of mortal goat herders.”

Tears sat at the edge of Kora’s eyes, but she would not allow them to fall. 

“You need not worry about me weeping, Lady Athena,” she said, her voice cracking with burgeoning emotion. Still, Kora remained steadfast and did not weep, for she would not allow the cruel words of the war goddess to smother her spirit. “I may be ignorant to the workings of court, but I am not a child that will be cowed or broken by your insults. I am a goddess in my own right.”

At that, Athena’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, Kora felt fear crawl cross her skin, a legion of spiders, cold and prickly. Slowly, however, Athena’s expression turned from one of dark anger to one of malicious satisfaction, and an immense, vicious smile cracked across her flinty face. Kora was not certain which expression frightened her more. 

“I see that you are a fighter. Good,” Athena said, “you will need that strength for what comes next, my dear  _ sister _ .”

“What do you mean by ‘what comes next’?”

“Well, the Hellenic Ball, of course.”


	6. Chapter 4: Into the Deep

The air tasted bitter and smelled of rotting eggs; its noxious heat burned in the lungs of those who breathed its scent. In and out the breaths came, measured and controlled. To suffocate here would be a shameful end. 

Aidon surveyed the ruinous landscape before him: an ocean of boiling, black liquid stretched out to jagged mountain peaks on the far side of the shore—the land of annihilation. 

To his left bubbled countless pools of steaming acid, dangerous even to his kind. Indeed, within the deeper regions of Tartarus, the difference between mortals and immortals all but collapsed. All were in danger of being slain. It is for this very reason that he did not send shades here for punishment; their spirits would be permanently destroyed, either by the environment or by the primordial creatures that lurked in the darkness, waiting for fresh prey. 

To his right, Aidon saw Trico, holding his standard of a charging black bull on a field of white asphodels. The young man’s dark eyes betrayed no emotion, though Aidon could sense his fear; it was the same fear shared by the rest of his mortal retinue, shades and chimaera alike. To die here would mean oblivion. 

Despite his earthly reputation as an unfeeling and cold ruler, Aidon cared deeply for his subjects. He saw their lives and hardships, the decisions they made and the guilt they carried. And, despite his better judgement, he had allowed himself to grow close to one, a young man named Trico. The boy had no one; his family had abandoned him as a child, so that even in the afterlife, he was alone, a restless wanderer who refused to till in the Fields of Asphodel, living out a peaceful existence with the other shades. Nor would he go to Elysium, for he fought bravely and died too early in life, and his young spirit burned too brightly to rest eternally in paradise. 

Indeed, so brightly did Trico’s soul burn that Aidon did not react with surprise but with admiration when his guards, Krios and Ged, brought the young man before him as a prisoner.

“We caught this lout attemptin’ to sneak past the borders of Tartarus, m’lord. The hundred-handed were fixin’ to rip him apart, were it not for our timely arrival,” Krios said, kicking the boy behind the knees, forcing him to kneel. Aidon glared at his foolish retainer, and the old satyr shivered in response. 

“A-a-apologies, m’lord, it’s just that—”

“I have already sat in judgement of you, boy,” Aidon said, ignoring the satyr and returning his attention to the young man. “Your sins were not deserving of eternal damnation in the bowels of Tartarus, so why do you foolishly seek to enter its depths?”

The young man bowed his head, though whether it was done in fear or as a sign of respect, Aidon could not tell. 

“To feel something, O King Hades, Great Lord of the Unseen Lands,” the boy responded, resolutely.

The epithet, said with reverence and sincerity, pushed Aidon back into his throne, caused the palms of his hands to tingle with untapped strength. 

“Even if it means fear?” Aidon asked, almost breathless, so intrigued was he by the power of the boy’s invocation of his title. 

“Even if it means fear, O King. Even if it means a second death and oblivion eternal in the World Between Worlds. I was but fourteen when my liege lord conscripted me to his army, only just beginning to fall in love with the world, before I was forced to dissever men and beast and earth, all. I know nothing now but bloodshed and fury; I feel nothing in their absence but emptiness and despair.” 

“I see... Impressive words for a mortal shade, I must admit. Yet you risk great pain and suffering, young man, such that you have never witnessed or experienced before. Do you understand this?”

“ ‘Tis better than feeling nothing, my lord.”

Aidon considered this. He supposed that for some shades, freedom from pain brought its own, unique form of suffering: a lack of meaning or sense of being part of a greater cause. He sat in thought for a long while, looking over the shade that kneeled before him, straight-backed and fists clenched.  _ Such spirit! _ Aidon thought.  _ A spirit worthy Elysium. _ Yet Aidon now understood why the boy would not tolerate paradise. 

“You need a purpose,” he finally offered, weighing his words carefully. “You seek meaning in the afterlife, a place where meaning is no longer necessary, and so you desperately rush towards your own annihilation. This desperation I recognize but, young man, do not be a fool: having a purpose does not mean you ought to suffer.”

The boy raised his face to meet Aidon’s gaze, and his expression was one of wonder. A question formed in the boy’s eyes, a secret hope that the dark god before him would prove to be compassionate in his need—a secret hope that Aidon had no issue fulfilling, for he felt a great sense of peace in being kind to the shades he ruled over. 

“What is your name, boy?”

“Astur the Fatherless of Thrace, my lord.”

“No, not your name from Gaia. Look inside yourself and tell me your _ true  _ name.”

The boy closed his eyes and concentrated, and Aidon watched as the realization began to dawn on his beardless face. 

“T...Trico,” the boy said, slowly, as if he were assessing the taste of the name on his tongue. “My name is Trico, Thane of the Unseen King.”

Aidon smiled. “And so you are.”

In the years that followed, Aidon felt that the boy began to think of him almost as a father, and return, Aidon began to view Trico as something close to a son. This, of course, was a feeling Death’s Master was loath to admit, even to himself—for immortals caring for mortals always proved to be troublesome—and yet the feeling was real nonetheless; and Aidon made a mighty effort to keep it close to his heart and well-hidden. Yet, when Trico volunteered with great respect and earnestness to be the standard-bearer of this latest excursion into Tartarus’s depths, Aidon had categorically refused, betraying the care he felt for the boy:

“I’ll not have your soul be shred into nothingness because you wish to prove something, Trico.”

“I’ve nothing to prove to you, my lord. I only wish to serve you as best I can, just as I’ve been doing all these years.”

Aidon stood up from his throne, rising to his full, imposing height. His voice grew deeper and the air turned cold as he became one with the power of his realm. 

“Understand this,  _ boy _ ,” he said, his words heavy and booming like breaking earth, “your place as a servant in my kingdom is through my generosity alone.”

Yet Trico did not shy away or cower, and instead only said: “As you say, Lord Aidoneus. I am at your service always; your simple retainer.”

“That is all you are and nothing more. If you request to be put on this excursion again, I will force you to drink from the Lethe and have you till the fields of Asphodel for eternity. My altruism only runs so far. Do you understand, shade?”

“...Yes, my lord, I do.”

“Yes indeed. Get out of my sight and attend to your duties. I do not wish to see you again today.”

But the shade, in the fashion of a son gently pestering a father, whittled away at Aidon’s resolve, until finally Aidon reluctantly acquiesced to his wishes. And now the boy, Trico, Thane of the Unseen King, stood next to Aidon as his standard-bearer, and his spirit seemed dimmed only slightly by the dark region of Tartarus—but dimmed nevertheless. 

“You are afraid,” said Aidon, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. He continued to look fixedly at the arduous path in front of him, the path that Hecate had guided him to. He had brought with him a small force of forty-three soldiers; they were all that could fit on Tartarus’s dangerous trails. Their ranks were made up of spirited shades, souls similar to Trico, who burned too brightly for the lands of eternal rest, and various other creatures besides: centaurs, satyrs, minotaurs, and cyclopes. 

The difference in species did not matter to Aidon; all that mattered was their loyalty and honor, and these forty-three were the most loyal and honorable thanes of his Stygian Corps. For Aidon, as Lord of the Unseen Lands, did not have use for a large standing army, unlike his brothers; rather, he kept a small corps of two hundred thousand, for use in defense of his realm and never invasion or expedition, until today. 

“Yes, my lord, I am,” Trico replied. He kept his eyes fixed forward, where the sun settled low in the red sky and sat in a perpetual state of eclipse. Aidon could see that Trico’s grip on the guidon shaft was tight and white-knuckled. 

“Would you like to return to the palace?”

“No, Lord Aidoneus. I am with you ‘till the end.”

“Very well,” Aidon said, spurring his horse. “Now to climb.” 

Onward and upward Aidon and his forty-three went, with Hecate and Briareos of the hundred-handed in tow. As they journeyed deeper into Tartarus, the ground changed from earth and stone to decay and rot. Soon, they found themselves stepping on countless pale worms, and their boots and hooves pressed unpleasantly into the living floor beneath their feet. They moved quickly, for standing in place too long allowed the worms to latch onto their bodies and begin feasting on their flesh. 

_ Crunch _ , _ splash _ ,  _ splish _ , their determined footsteps went, and the shrill cries of the worms sounded, unheeded. 

Around them, a thick fog began to take hold, such that Aidon could no longer see. Bergeros, his great black steed, stomped his feet and neighed, refusing to move forward. 

“Whoa, Bergeros, whoa,” Aidon said, petting the beast’s neck. It snorted in response, twitching its ears back and forth. “Hecate, tell me we are close.” 

He was troubled, for the fog had grown thicker, and the cries of the worms had grown louder. 

“Unfortunately not, my lord. We’ve thousands of meters to go before we reach the source of the expansion—”

Suddenly, a great moan came; a sound of awesome hunger and anguish, and the slithering ground beneath their feet shook. 

“Tiny creatures,” the mighty voice said, foul and hateful. “Tiny creatures, come to play, tiny creatures come to the feast. Eaten you shall be, yes, yes, yes.”

“Hold steady!” Aidon shouted, removing his sword from its hilt. Around them, the worms wailed, their cries sharp and deafening. “ _ Hold steady! _ ”

“Eaten, eaten, flesh from bone, bone from flesh, yes, yes, yes!”

Bergeros reared, throwing Aidon to the ground; aimlessly, the beast darted forward, foam seeping out of its great flanks, and the forty-three watched in horror as the Steed of Hades was swept up by a large, clawed hand and ripped apart, its intestines spilling into the maw of a giant, thousand-legged worm. 

Laughter surrounded them; laughter loud and numerous.

“Protect the King!” shouted Briareos. Burning eyes of flame circled the forty-three, and in the darkness of the mist, Aidon knew that they were legion. The voices of shades shouted in his mind; distantly, he noted the pain of worms burrowing into the flesh of his legs. 

“My lord, you must stand!” The voice was young and frightened, but brimming with courage. 

Roughly, Aidon felt himself being pulled up to his feet by Trico; the boy then inserted the guidon into the ground, stabbing the worms beneath with great determination and force. 

“Come for feasting, the godlings have. To the pit they’ve run to us; eaten they shall be, O Lords of Longing.”

“Behind me!” Aidon shouted. “Weapons at the ready!” 

Bringing his hand across his blade, Aidon called forth the black flames of his realm and set fire to the creatures that surrounded them. Terrible shrieks of pain roared from the mist and the scent of burning flesh filled Aidon’s nose. 

“The godling burns us!” the creatures screamed, though their groans of agony soon turned into peels of laughter. “Burn us, solemn King, for thou and all thy kin shall be eaten!”

“Aidoneus!” Hecate shouted. Beside her, Briareos held off the gnawing fangs of a heinous mouth.

The attack then began en masse, and mercilessly and cruelly, and members of the forty-three fell, slaughtered like lambs.

“Full back, full back!” Aidon sent forth his black flames again, in wave after wave; a shield of darkness for him and his men—but on and on the creatures of Tartarus came and destroyed, unrelenting. They were hateful abhorrent, vile beasts of many heads, with flesh the texture of mortal innards. They smelled of disease and decay; they smelled of every evil Aidon had ever judged. “Hecate, get us out of here!”

“I am trying, my lord!” And she was. Aidon could see her shaking; could see her sweating profusely from the effort of trying to transport what was left of their force from the depths of Tartarus back to the borders of Chthonia. 

In the chaos, Aidon saw his men being bitten in two, their lower halves falling to the ground, only to be eaten by the worms there. Once the soldiers had faced death; now they had been ripped from existence within the cosmos. 

Time stopped, then, in that battleground of gore and slaughter, and in front of him, the great Worm-King stood. 

“Hades, Unseen Lord of the Unseen Lands,” it said, and Aidon saw the the creature’s foul lips curled up into a parody of a smile. “Seen you are now, even with your helm.”

“Release my men,” Aidon said, holding his sword out in front of him. “Feast on me alone.”

The creature’s grin grew wider. “ _ Foolish godling, the Lords of Longing must be appeased—we shall feast on you all! _ ”

Its massive maw opened, making to swallow Aidon whole, and Aidon thrust his sword into the top of its soft palate, yet the creature did not die. No, indeed: its sharp teeth came from behind and pierced through Aidon’s cuirass, drawing ichor as it tore through his flesh and reached his insides. 

“My lord!” Trico’s voice. Frightened; incredibly frightened. The shout of a young boy scared for the fate of his father, rather than himself. 

“Stay back, boy!”

Aidon shut his eyes, feeling the sharp teeth of the Worm-King root through his insides. Onward, he stabbed; onward he slashed at the creature, but it did not yield, and Aidon felt his strength waning, until young hands pushed him away from the maw of the Worm-King—and took his place instead. 

“ _ Trico! No!” _   
On his belly, bleeding and weak, Aidon reached out, sending forth flames of darkness, but it was all for naught: verily, the half-dead Worm-King grabbed his faithful servant wreathed in black, protective flames, Aidon’s mortal son, and tore the boy apart limb from limb. 

“ _ Trico!”  _

But it was too late. Aidon felt the boy’s fiery spirit snuff out as soon it had been ripped from the cosmos. Yet Aidon screamed and rushed forward towards his own annihilation, insane with grief and regret, making to reach the Worm-King for one final battle, when in the next step he took, he found himself on the grounds of his palace. 

Aidon looked around, bemused and exhausted: of the forty-three he brought with him, only ten survived, and all were badly wounded. The world spun in front of him; the voices of grieving shades resounded in his mind.

_ My family… _

_ Mother! Mother, please…. _

_ My son...my son...  _

“My son,” Aidon repeated, pressing his palms to his face. “My son, my son…”

And there, surrounded by his remaining retainers, the Unseen King fell to his knees and wept. 


	7. The Ball

  
  
  


Chapter 5: The Ball

Strings of lyres strummed alongside whistling flutes and beating drums. The jovial notes of music traveled slowly but surely through the Grand Hall of Olympios, until at last the warm melodies filled the entire chamber with good cheer. 

On the far side of the hall, near the arched garden entrance, Kora watched the crowd of mortal lords and ladies dance alongside nymphs and gods. She sipped quietly on her golden mead, smiling. The hearty liquid tasted of her favorite fruits—tart, juicy peaches, succulent apricots and bursting, red cherries—and, as the mead made its languid journey into her stomach, heating her from the inside out, Kora thought of Demeter.

“Oh, Mother,” she whispered, smiling softly at the wondrous room before her. Countless tongues of twinkling flames hovered overhead and illuminated the vast chamber; their colors burned in hues of soft pinks and warm oranges. “Would that you could see me now.” 

On the central table sat rolling hills of food: rare cuts of lamb luxuriated next to perfectly seasoned pork legs; blocks of hard, savory cheeses huddled together next to their softer brethren; honey cakes and bowls of sweet pudding surrounded luscious fruit-filled pastries; piles of sun-dried tomatoes, beans, olives, and salads teetered on the top of the pile, near tender crab legs, mussels, and hot seafood stew. The more Kora looked at the food, the more food there seemed to be: it was a feast the likes of which she had never seen before, and one only made possible through mortal sacrificial offerings. 

“Apollo, leave me alone, you stupid!”

“Father said I can do whatever I want!”

“No he didn’t, you stupid!”

“Yes he did!”

“I’ll go tell Mother if you don’t—”

“You should leave your sister alone,” Kora said, throwing the quarreling children a disapproving glance. Like her, they wore masks: the girl covered her face with the mask of a hunting dog and the boy wore the blue-back beak of a raven. Yet Kora knew who they were, for though the King had many illegitimate children, very few were treated with such reverence as the two standing before her. 

“Who are  _ you _ to tell me what to do?” Apollo asked, attempting to sound threatening. Instead, his voice squeaked out, high-pitched and petulant; he sounded very much like the child that he was. 

“Your older sister,” Kora replied flatly, unimpressed with the boy’s bluster.

“Mother says we have to respect what older people say, Apollo.”

“Mother says this, Mother says that,” the boy repeated, mockingly. “So what? Mother is just a woman, and you’re  _ just a girl.”  _ He stomped his foot to emphasize his point. 

“And you’re just a little boy, so you ought to listen to me. Stop bothering your sister.”

Apollo lifted up his mask and stuck his tongue out. He then made to pull his sister’s hair again, when Athena’s iron grip wrapped around his small, delicate wrist. Her owl’s mask covered the top half of her face, though her giddiness was apparent in the way her thin lips twitched and curled with the ghost of a vicious grin. 

“And what do we have here?” she asked, pulling the boy’s hand painfully behind his back. 

“Apollo’s being stupid!”

“Shut it!” he squeaked, very clearly in pain. 

“Now, now, little Apollo, you know that’s no way for a prince to speak to a princess—”

“ _ She  _ started it!”

“No I didn’t, you stupid!”

“Yes you did—ow! Ow!” 

“Athena,” Kora said, stepping forward. “That’s enough. You’re hurting him.”

“Oh, come now, precious Kora. He’s a big, strong boy—and besides, we are but  _ women  _ and  _ girls _ . Aren’t we, little brother?” She pulled harder, and young Apollo’s raven beak had fallen from his face to reveal a wetland of tears on his chubby cheeks.

“Stars above, Athena, he is only a  _ child! _ ” 

“Children grow up. Boys become men, and if Fortune smiles upon them, they eventually become kings. Girls become women who eventually become the broodmares of kings—that is, if Fortune smiles upon them—and lesser men besides. The time to learn is now.”

“If you hurt him any further, I will invoke the King’s name.”

“Filthy peasant. You wouldn’t dare.”

Athena’s furious eyes of stone glowered at her and then flicked back towards the boy, whose tear-soaked cheeks had turned ruddy from discomfort. She let him go slowly, finger by by finger, as if the act of loosening her hard grip caused her pain.

“Run to your mother,” she said, returning her flinty eyes to Kora. “Go now, the both of you.”

The twins did not need to be told twice; off they ran into the hall, the milieu of lords and ladies remaining oblivious to their small and childish presence. 

Meanwhile, Athena’s lips curled slowly into a half-smile, a cruel smirk that Kora recognized and knew well by now. 

“You’ve some nerve to presume to order me about, Kora,” Athena said, lacing her words with venom and spite. “Spending all that time with that whore Aphrodite has already rotted your small mind. Indeed, it seems to me that you think yourself the Queen—what with threatening to bring my father into petty conflicts—and not the bastard that you truly are. Know your place, for you will never rise above it in this,” she gestured towards the crowd, “our great chain of being.”

“The King is my father as well, sister.”

“The King is father to many, yet a bastard still remains a bastard,  _ dear sister _ .”

Kora wanted to roll her eyes, wanted to sigh heavily and shake her head. Instead, she took another sip of her mead and said simply, “You handled that well.”

“Your sarcasm is noted.”

“No, truly. Although I never knew your sphere of influence included hurting small children.”

“You foul and loathsome little thing, your newfound arrogance will not last. There’s a great deal you don’t know; you are out of your depth here in every regard.”

“So I’ve been told,” Kora said, taking another sip of mead. “Yet it does not take a genius, military or otherwise, to recognize that you hurt that boy unnecessarily.” 

“Oh, please,” Athena scoffed. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to Kora. Her feathers appeared to bristle. “Come off it.”

Kora scanned the crowd, lazily looking from one group of dancing lords and ladies to the next. Finally she spotted the twins once again, and this time they were dancing together with their mother. 

Kora smiled. “Thought it appears he’s all right, now.”

“Of course he is,” Athena said. “So now he’ll grow up to be just like the King and the Crowned Prince and every other horrible, idiot man in this corner of the world. Such is his right as a male, after all. Stars burn us all.”

“Why are you so hateful?” Kora asked, noting how Athena’s gold-tipped feathers appeared to grow sharper and more knife-like with every passing moment. 

“Because of  _ that _ ,” Athena spat, nodding her head in the direction of Ares, who had what looked like four nymphs in various states of undress clinging to his hips and shoulders. Roughly and rather unexpectedly, the Lady of War grabbed Kora’s chalice from her hand, swallowed a generous mouthful of what was left of her mead. 

“I was drinking that, you know.”

“That idiot, that, that  _ fool _ ,” Athena continued, pointedly ignoring Kora’s look of disdain, “disgraces these halls with his constant philandering and chaotic war-making amongst the mortals. And yet in his unfailing wisdom, the King has made  _ him _ the heir apparent, the Crown Prince, while Hephaestus is the first-born son—and  _ I _ am the most qualified of the three legitimate children to bear the title.” 

“You’re jealous?”

Athena’s eyes shifted from dark stone walls into vicious storm clouds, though her gaze remained trained on Ares. 

“No, dear little sister. Unlike you, jealousy is beneath me. No, I am not jealous; I am  _ angry _ .”

Kora wanted to reach out to her sister, to touch her sharply feathered shoulders and comfort her, soothe her rage. She too found Ares obnoxious, appalling even, especially with regards to how he played with mortal lives. Kora and her mother lived closely with the humans; among her group of friends, Kora counted several mortals. Indeed, a young woman named Cassandra was her closest friend, and she was the daughter of a simple mortal peasant. That Ares saw such people as playthings to do with as he wished made her stomach twist in knots.  _ And to grow up with such a monster as your brother, and in his shadow besides?  _ Kora shuddered at the thought. 

“I understand—”

“You understand nothing,” Athena seethed. “Be grateful that you are only a bastard; nothing is expected of you and you’ve nothing to aspire to. That the twins were raised here at Court and you were left with your ignorant farmhand of a mother in Eleusis should demonstrate to you your utter worthlessness. Return to your fields of wheat and dirt, your forests filled with insects and beasts, Kora, for no one will have you here. You will not usurp my authority, and neither will that ancient harlot you so reverently and pathetically refer to as ‘Dite.’ You come from nothing; you are nothing; and nothing is all you will ever be.” 

With that, Athena drank what was left of the mead, unceremoniously dropped the chalice on the floor, and walked into the direction of Ares, who was still ostensibly entertaining several nymphs. 

Kora clenched her jaw tightly as tears threatened to fall from her eyes.  _ Don’t weep here, Kora _ , she told herself, bending down to pick up the fallen chalice. The Lady of War’s words had cut Kora deeply again, despite her efforts to remain unbothered. 

“She’s so cruel,” Kora whispered to herself. 

“Who is so cruel?”

“N-no one...” she stammered. Startled by the voice, she stood up abruptly, and the back of her head collided directly the sandstone wall, which grunted—

_ Walls don’t grunt _ . Rubbing her head, Kora turned...and saw that she stood face-to-face with an armored abdomen, shining black and silver. Her stomach fell into the floor. 

There was only one god she knew to be that tall. 

“Lord Hades, my apologies, I—”

“Are you alright?” Of course she should have recognized him immediately; his voice was as rich and dark as the realm he ruled over. However, the soft tone of his questions surprised her: Death’s Master sounded genuinely curious and...concerned for her. 

_ No _ , Kora thought.  _ Absolutely ridiculous _ . Surely that was her mind playing tricks. Perhaps, as the Lady of Love and Beauty had said, Hades was not capricious like Ares or petulant like Hephaestus. Yet for however much she may have trusted Aphrodite, Kora still did not believe that Hades was not a cruel god, and after dealing with Athena, she had dealt with enough cruelty for one day. 

“Yes, my lord,” she answered. 

“Really? Because you sound as if you’ve been weeping.”

_ Stars burn him _ , she thought, seething.  _ How dare he? _ She looked up at him, saw that his face was masked with the helm of a bull. She could see nothing of his eyes, even if she wanted to. 

“Do I  _ look _ like I’ve been weeping, Lord Hades?”

Tears still balanced at the edges of her eyelids, threatening to fall at any moment. She hoped the power of her glare would conceal that fact. It was a dangerous game she was playing. 

The helm shifted on his great shoulders, and he lifted his hand as if to scratch his chin in thought. 

“I must admit,” he finally said, after what seemed to Kora like much deliberation, “your colorful mask makes it difficult for me to tell, now.” He reached for her, stopping just short of touching her face. 

“May I?” he asked, his gloved hand hovering inches away from her cheek. 

_ What is he playing at? _ Kora wondered. Yet curiosity got the better of her burgeoning dislike for him, and she nodded. 

His touch was gentle, but he did not hold her delicately like she might break, the way Aphrodite or her mother would touch her face. Rather, he held her firmly, as if she were as durable as bronze, and the leather covering his palm felt cool and soft against her skin. 

“I spot...let’s see. Ah, yes, a smattering of freckles…” She felt the mask lift from her face and away from her head, felt the tender tracing of his thumb across her brows. She shut her eyes, heard him hum in amusement. “Eyes the color of only the most verdant forests…” Gingerly, he turned her head. “My, what a vision you are.”

_ Not according to Athena _ , Kora thought bitterly. She did not know why she valued the opinion of the Lady of War so highly, but she did. She felt the telltale warmth of a tear roll down her cheek, and his leather clad thumb wiped the tear away almost as quickly as it had been shed. 

“Kora, who has crushed your spirit so?” 

_ Damn him _ ,  _ no one has crushed me _ , she thought, and in her anger, more tears began to fall. Soon, her tears became an onslaught that she could not stop.  _ Damn him and his whole realm. _

Awkwardly, he wrapped his arm and heavy cape around her, pressed her to him, and she wept against the cool metal that covered his stomach. His hand splayed against the top of her back, held her steady. She was not sure how long she wept there, or why he even bothered to try and comfort her, but she found that she was grateful for his embrace. 

“It seems we have an audience,” he said after some time, clearing his throat. He stepped back, nodded towards the crowd of immortals that was now staring at the two of them with an intense and spiteful interest. “Seems that you’ve earned Athena’s ire, as well.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Kora said, half-heartedly laughing. She wiped the remaining tears from her face, replaced her mask. She could feel him looking at her, just as she could feel Athena’s gaze boring through her. 

“I’m guessing she is the cause of your distress.”

“She is, my lord.”

“You’ve made a dangerous enemy.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He chuckled then, a hearty sound tinged with an underlying bitterness that left her feeling cold. 

“Do not be troubled, Kora. I’ve made a similar mistake. It seems we are kindred spirits in that regard.”

She wanted to hide from him; she wanted to run to him—she didn’t know what she wanted at all. 

“Walk with me?” he asked, holding out his hand. “I’m weary of the festivities and you are upset. Fresh air will do us both some good.” With the newfound distance between them, Kora noticed that he carried a sword at his hip.  _ At a ball? For what purpose? _ “Unless, of course, you want to stay in the sight of the madding crowd.” She thought that if she saw his face, he would be smiling. The thought infuriated her, but she grinned despite herself.  _ Damn him. _

“I will walk with you, my lord.”

She took his massive hand in hers, and soon the pair began their meandering path through the olympian gardens. This close, she could smell him, and his scent was the hearthsmoke of freshly-kindled aspen wood; it was a strange smell, though not entirely unpleasant as it reminded her of the forests of her home. 

He took long strides, and would have walked quickly, much more quickly than her, were it not for his slightly hobbled gait. After some time, when they were far from the Grand Hall’s sounds of cheerful music and laughter, they stopped at a bench. Kora took the opportunity to sit and rest her feet, noting how he leaned heavily against a nearby pillar. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. 

She looked up at the stars, daydreaming of the forests of Eleusis and of the day she would see her mother and Cassandra again. Together they sat in silence, until Kora heard him sigh irritably. His constant fidgeting surprised her, and Kora wanted to say something, to tease him maybe if she found the courage, but those thoughts died when she saw him press his hand into his abdomen. 

_ So he is hurt. _ Kora figured as much. The concept of an immortal sustaining an injury was not entirely foreign to her—she’d suffered her own scrapes and bruises climbing trees and rough housing while growing up in Eleusis—but a lord of Hades’s eminence getting hurt, and hurt seriously? The idea was frightening. 

“Would you…” she stopped when his helm turned towards her, its bull’s expression harsh and implacable. She found herself wishing that he would remove the helm now, so she could better gauge what he was thinking; she hated trying to decode his intentions through his tone and body language alone. She heard another strange sound from him, and this time he hung his head forward.  _ He is only a man _ , she realized. Powerful, yes, brother to the King himself and the lord of a realm, but still just a man. 

It was then that she decided she would not be intimidated by him, nor anyone else that stood among the immortals of Olympios. She would prove to them all that she and her mother were worthy of respect. She steeled herself. “Would you like to to sit down, Lord Hades?”

“Aidon.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is Aidoneus; Aidon is my nickname, and what I prefer to be called. ‘Lord Hades’ is my title, and it is not to be used lightly.”

“Aphrodite has asked me to call her ‘Dite,’ and now you ask me to call you ‘Aidon.’ Do all the Olympians hate their names, I wonder?” 

“Perhaps,” he said, nodding towards her. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“Right, you are not an Olympian.”

“Just so.” He stepped away from the column, sat down next to her with some effort. He leaned his head back against the wall, groaned once more. 

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

He seemed very tired; his helm pressed onto his shoulders heavily. After a long moment, he answered, “Yes. In more ways than one. Hecate tells me I will heal soon, but I’m not so certain. Some wounds are too deep.”

“Too deep?”

He nodded. “So deep they leave scars, or they never heal, and the wound remains in the flesh, festering, taking over, until one day that is all what one is: the wound, the hurt, and the regret from long ago…” He trailed off, tapping his thumb against the silver pommel of his sword. He seemed to become lost in his thoughts for several minutes, and his breathing rattled through his mask, strained and heavy. His mood had become very dark and she did not wish to upset him further, but his wheezing disturbed her.  _ No god should sound like that, let alone a lord _ . 

“Lord Ha—I mean,  _ Aidon _ , maybe you ought to remove your helm?”

He laughed, a genuine spark of mirth that shocked her and made her cheeks heat up, even as he pressed his hand against his stomach. 

“I ought to, certainly, but Olympios is a pageant and one must keep up appearances.”

“The Lord of the Dead must always present himself as terrifying and unflappable, is that it?”

“But of course! How else do you expect me to maintain my air of authority?”

“We are the only two people here, Aidon,” she teased, surprising herself.  _ Teasing the Lord of the Underworld—I’ve lost my mind! _ she thought, her cheeks burning. Yet she continued, spurred on by curiosity: “I would keep your secret safe.” 

“Oh?” He leaned towards her, and she felt her breath catch. “Would you, now?” 

His hand reached out to cup her face again, and he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He was so close, so real in front of her, and they were secluded. He could take advantage of her, hurt her, even, and face no punishment for it because of his relation to the King—yet she found that she did not fear him. Aside from Aphrodite, he was the first immortal to deign to speak to her with any sense of respect. She found him infuriating for reasons she could not place, and she  _ did _ fear his power over Death...but she did not fear him as a predator. 

She wanted to see his face, she realized. Would he be handsome, like the Ocean Lord, or frightfully scarred and deformed from years of war, like Ares?  _ Would he try to kiss me? _ she wondered. 

She knew how to kiss boys. She’d done it before numerous times, in secret corners of the forest, away from her mother’s prying eyes. She kissed them and held them close, these young mortal lords who’d pledge their lives to her and her mother, defenders of Eleusis. She’d long ago decided that kissing an immortal lord couldn’t be very different from kissing a mortal. The kisses she gave the young lords were courteous rewards for their loyalty, always shallow and chaste...but as she got older, and continued to kiss young men her secluded forest groves, a secret promise of something more always sparked deep inside her. 

Would Aidon fulfill that promise, take the kiss farther here? After all, the immortals were known for their lustful appetites, and Kora was no fool.  _ Perhaps he brought me out here for that very purpose _ . The thought both frightened and excited her; she wanted to gloat as much as she wanted to hide.  _ No one here will have me, Parthenos? The Unseen Lord of the Unseen Lands sits before me and he… _ _   
_ _ And he what? _

“Yes, I would,” she answered him, breathless. “And you do not intimidate me, Aidon, no matter how much you try to.”

“Well now, we can’t have that…” 

They leaned closer together, their faces only inches apart. Desire pooled in her stomach, hot and persistent; she wanted to reach up, knock that ridiculous helm off his head, and press her lips against his. After the viciousness she had experienced today, she wanted to lose her mind in something else, with someone else. 

“Kiss me,” she commanded, startled by her own lust. 

He sat back. “I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss me,” she repeated, more forcefully. She brought her knees up beneath her, sat on her haunches so that she could be face-to-face with him.  _ Kiss me, you exasperating behemoth of a man! _

“Kiss you…” he echoed, amazed. Then he laughed, hearty and jovial. “I was under the impression that you barely tolerated me, and now here you are, demanding kisses from me. How quickly feelings change. Do you have any idea how old I am, girl?” 

Now she laughed. “Positively ancient,  _ old man _ .”

He snorted, pretending to be scandalized. “Well now, not quite  _ that _ old—”

“You are not so old and I am not so young, Aidon,” she said, reaching up to touch his chest. “And we are adults by both mortal and immortal reckoning, so I fail to see how it matters.”

His hand wrapped over hers, held her close. “You are...full of surprises, Kora,” he whispered. “What would your mother think of your forwardness?” Now  _ he _ was teasing  _ her _ . 

“My mother’s not here.” _I could do it now_ , she thought. _I could remove his helm_ _before he’d have a chance to react._ Yet that felt wrong. She wanted him to agree to it; she had no interest in violating his privacy. And certainly, since he wore his various helms among allies, and kept them on even as they ostensibly became uncomfortable, he must have had a good reason for doing so. She would not betray that trust.

“Kiss me, Aidon,” she repeated. “Please.”

He sighed, but she could hear from his tone that he was smiling at her request. “Very well, Kora, I shall kiss you. But you must promise to keep your eyes closed.”

She giggled. “Are you secretly a Gorgon, Aidon?”

“Perhaps. All the more reason to keep your eyes closed.”

She shut her eyes, heard the sound of metal crashing against the ground. Not a moment later, he pressed his lips against hers. Instinctively, Kora made to thread her hands into his hair, but he grabbed her wrists and placed her hands on his neck instead. She protested, but he was insistent about keeping her hands away from his head; he held her wrists firmly has he deepened the kiss, only letting her go when he was certain she would not reach for him again. Her breath hitched once more when she felt the strange sensation of his tongue slowly, almost gingerly, push past her lips. She reciprocated the cautious exploration, curious at the feel of him. His tongue moved in slow circle with hers, almost dancing together, and she mimicked his movements, causing him to groan and press himself closer to her body.

She could no longer pretend that their kiss was a chaste meeting of lips; no, now there were many kisses, feverish and insistent, on her neck and mouth. Each kiss left Kora’s lips and skin tingling, wanting more. She moved to straddle him as his hands traveled down to her waist. She had him pinned to the bench now, and it brought her an immense feeling of power and pleasure to have the Lord of the Dead beneath her and at her mercy. At the thought, she felt something spark deep within her, an uncoiling desire from her dreams. 

Unsure, but compelled by the heat she felt smoldering between her legs, she moved her hips in a rolling motion down against his, causing him to hiss and break the kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard, and she felt the jagged edges of a bone-like material scrape against her scalp. She wanted to touch his face then, to open her eyes and see the man who engendered fear in the hearts of so many. Instead, she kissed his neck, felt his pulse beat wildly there against her lips. 

“ _ Kora _ —” 

Unable to stop herself, she ground her hips against him again, compelled once more by the heat that spread from low in her belly. 

He cursed, pressed his face into the hollow of her neck, and trembled with crumbling restraint. Her fingers trailed lightly down the back of his neck. He inhaled deeply and shuddered. 

“Fuck it,” he growled, and suddenly she found her legs hitched up near his groin, her silk skirt spread indecently open. Fear abruptly gripped her and she began to squirm, but that only seemed to encourage him.  _ Did you not want this? _ she chided herself. His body was warm and solid beneath her. She wanted this; she knew that she wanted this. 

But things were moving too fast now, and she was still very inexperienced, and what if someone were to walk in on them, and what would her mother think—all fears that she ignored earlier, crashing down on her all at once. Now his own hips ground against hers, and through the thick material of his breeches, she could feel something firm. He planted hot, open mouthed kisses on her neck and against her mouth. With one hand supporting her waist, he reached his other hand underneath her dress to cup her breasts. Despite her fear, she moaned and ground herself against his moving hips once more, earning another hiss from him in return.

“You want this,” he breathed against her skin, sending shivers through her body. “You really want this.” He said his words with the slight lilt of a question, revealing a quiet astonishment. 

“Yes, Aidon.” She was afraid, but she felt intoxicated by his smokey scent and the feel of his strong arms around her. “I do. Please—”

“Please what?” he asked in between kisses on her neck. His warm breath puffed against her skin as he inhaled the fresh smell of lavender in her hair. “Anything you want, anything.” 

“Please,” she sighed as he massaged her breasts. She felt as if she were melting in his arms; her insides were becoming molten liquid. He hummed at the soft sounds she made, at ease and languid. 

“Tell me, Kora,” he said, his lips pressing against her jaw. His hands moved from her breasts back down to her stomach and hips. His voice was raw, his breathing heavy from desire and not pain. He seemed to be losing himself, just like her; any facade of calm and collected control he had built up over the years burned away as she picked him apart, piece by piece. 

“Please...” she had to take a deep breath.  _ Please what? _ Kora felt overheated and lightheaded; this was all too much. “St-st-stop.”

Aidon froze. “What?”

“Stop,” she repeated, louder. And he did, removed her from his lap, and stood. She heard him pick up his helm and place it back on his head. 

“That went too far,” Aidon said. He cleared his throat, shuffled on his feet awkwardly. “My apologies, Kora. You requested only a kiss. I’ve had a great deal on my mind lately; I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

She reached out to him, but he stepped back, wary of further contact. Absently, Kora noted the moist feeling in the seat of her smallclothes, and the intermittent throbbing between her legs.

“It’s okay,” she said, lamely. She could see him building up walls even as she fought to tear them back down. “I’m the one who pushed you for more.”

“You are inexperienced. I should’ve known better.”

Now she became annoyed. “Don’t patronize me, Aidon.”

“I’m not—”

“You are! I am not a child, Aidon, do not speak to me as one!”

“Peace, woman!” He threw up his hands in an effort to placate her. She was having none of it. “Peace!” 

“Stars above, you are  _ infuriating _ !” 

“Lord Hades, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you…” 

They both looked up and saw the Messenger hovering before them. He was younger than Kora but still older than Apollo, and his hair and eyes were a rich brown. His gaze darted back and forth between her—her clothes disheveled, her lipstick smudged—and Aidon, and a look of amazement and excitement dawned across his face. 

“ _ You _ ? With  _ her _ ?”

“Out with it, Hermes,” Aidon snapped. 

“O ho ho, all of Olympios will sing about this day for years to come! I can’t believe it, the inexorable Lord of the Dead, and the young, innocent daughter of Demeter, caught together post-coitus, and at the Hellenic Ball, no less! This is too  _ good,  _ too, too good—”

“ _ Hermes! _ ” Aidon shouted, and the sound was enormous and deep; it was the sound of breaking earth. “There was no coitus, you simpering fool!” 

Kora bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She could have never before pictured the Master of Death shouting something so ridiculous and silly as what he just shouted, and in such a serious manner, too—and yet here they were. 

Hermes ducked like Aidon had thrown something at him, and spat out his information in quick succession thereafter, a shivering mess of a young man. “Yes, my lord, of course my lord. The King has arrived and is ready to see you now, my lord.”

“Very well,” Aidon said. “Open the aether gate. I’m having trouble walking without a limp and I don’t need your brother trying to challenge me to another duel in this state.”

“Yes my lord, of course my lord.” Hermes spread his hands, and before them appeared a glowing archway, crackling with lightning and thunder. Aidon made to step through before pausing to turn back to Kora. 

“We will meet again, soon,” he said. “Do not let Athena get to you; she is a brilliant woman, but war has made her hard. Your spirit is strong and fiery. Keep it that way; I like that about you. And Hermes—”

“Y-y-yes, my lord?”

“Speak of what you have seen here to absolutely no one.”

“B-b-b-but m-m-my lord, I’m the Messenger! To not speak of this would be to go against my very nature—”

“ _ Hermes. _ ” 

“Yes, my lord, of course my lord. Mum’s the word, my lord, I swear it to the stars.”

“Good,” Aidon said, sounding very pleased with himself. He nodded at Kora, said, “Until next time,” and stepped through the aether gate, with Hermes in tow. 

“Until next time,” Kora echoed. Anger, sadness, and desire roiled through her, a boiling stew of bewilderment and hurt. She had never felt so lost and alone in her life. 


	8. Philadelphia

“Are you sure about this?”

_ No _ , Aidon wanted to say. He had never been more uncertain of anything in his life. Yet the words of his brother, his King, compelled him. “I’m certain, Hecate. Open the Gates.” 

Aidon gripped the leather of his horses’ reins tightly. He thought of the picture he made, dressed in full campaign raiment, astride his great silver chariot, with the noblest and fiercest of his horses, the sons of Bergeros, carrying him forward. He would frighten her, he knew. 

“There are other ways, my lord.”

“No, Hecate,” he said, sighing. “There are no other ways.” Slowly before him, the Gates of Hades opened to the aether. What lay beyond? Hellas, in all her wartorn glory, and the province of Eleusis. The horses snorted and stomped their hooves. 

“If you take her like this, she will hate you, my lord.” 

“I know.” Before him, bolts of lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Dark purple clouds swirled together in red mists. Aidon hated such portals; they pulled him through harshly, vacuums of time and space, and he felt his body break down cell by cell, molecule by molecule, until he became reconstituted at the other end, with his knees unstrung and wobbly as if he’d just fought in battle. The more years he spent in the Underworld, the more difficult traveling through the Gates became, though neither Bergeros nor his sons ever seemed to mind.

“Zeus is being unrighteously cruel to the both of you.”

Aidon’s thoughts drifted back to his brother, who kept his personal chambers fairly sparse and unadorned, though warm comfortable. On a plush chair he sat, bouncing the young boy Apollo on his knee. The lad had the stormy gray eyes of his father, and a mane of midnight-black hair, courtesy of his mother, Leto. His childish laughter tugged on something inside Aidon, a dam that he had hastily built up prior to attending this year’s Hellenic Ball. The boy stopped laughing when he spotted Aidon, his dark skin turning a pale white, though the strange feeling of grief still threatened to consume Aidon regardless. 

“You’re late,” his brother said gruffly. 

“My apologies, Your Grace, I became rather...preoccupied.” Aidon smiled despite himself. The soft lips of his betrothed, the sweet lavender scent of her hair, a reflection of her true essence—the fresh memories calmed him, even as his mind swirled with clouds of despair.

“I’ve never known you to be late, Aidon. I hope your preoccupation was worth wasting my time.” Zeus put the child down, motioned for him to leave, though the boy stayed rooted in place. “What’s this now, Apollo?”

“I am frightened, Father.”

Zeus raised his brow, then laughed and rubbed Apollo’s head good naturedly. “Do not be frightened, son, he is only your uncle.”

Again, Aidon’s self composure threatened to break.  _ This is what true pain is _ , he realized. The scars he saw on myriad shades came not from physical lacerations or wounds, but from the soul-tearing pain of losing a loved one. Zeus had fathered several half-mortals, and briefly Aidon wondered if his brother had ever felt this grief, this heavy burden that Fortune saw fit to place on his shoulders. 

“My uncle is frightening, Father.”

“Do not be so timid, Apollo—” Zeus was beginning to sound agitated, and even with his poor vision, Aidon could see dark circles of exhaustion under his brother’s usually bright eyes. 

“Hephaestus tells me that you are talented with a bow, young master,” Aidon said, in an effort to break the tension. 

“ _ Unusually _ talented, m-m-my lord,” Hermes broke in, nervous and fearful. Aidon had almost forgotten the youth was there, so quiet he had been in the moments after the two had left Kora in the gardens. _ Kora _ …

Aidon wanted to keep his thoughts on her; her fiery spirit, her forwardness; she would anchor him, keep him from getting lost in the dark abyss of his own thoughts.  _ Kora. _

The boy looked down, his cheeks turning a bright red. “Not as good as Artemis,” he said, retreating into himself. 

“Artemis is the hunter, as Leto tells it,” Zeus chimed in, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Apollo is the archer.”

“Apollo, Far Striker,” Aidon finished, smiling. The boy looked up, less timid than before, and in him Aidon saw the great strength and nobility of his father.  _ He could make a great king one day _ , Aidon thought. But he also knew that Zeus would never abdicate the throne, let alone abdicate the throne to a bastard, no matter how noble. That Ares was the heir apparent and Crown Prince was of little consequence; Zeus would hold onto power until chaos or conquest destroyed Hellas and her worshippers. 

“Far Striker indeed,” Zeus said, his tone turning from one of agitation to one of pride. “Little Far Striker, go play with your sister—nicely—and don’t come back until you’re told. I’ll have a present for the both of you. Hermes, make sure your brother doesn’t get lost.” 

“Yes, Father,” Hermes answered, sheepishly. Aidon could smell fear still radiating off the youth, fear that Trico never displayed... _ Enough, do not think of him. He is gone. _

Hermes led Apollo away. As he neared the door, the boy threw a glance back at Aidon briefly, as if to say something, then shook his head and ran out of the room with a youthful exuberance that tore at Aidon’s heart. 

“You can remove that helm now,” Zeus said, lounging back on his chair. He took a large draught of wine that stained his brown beard, wiped his lips with his forearm. Aidon wanted to laugh; his brother still knew very little in the way of table manners. 

“Everyone wants me to remove my helm today. Is the mystery of my face really that irresistible?”

“Enough games. Do as I say, Aidon, or I’ll have you striped.” The threat was not serious. Though Aidon respected his brother’s authority, he was a king in his own right, and Zeus knew better than to arrest and whip his own kin over something so petty. 

“Very well, Your Grace. But I warn you now—you will not like what you see.”

Zeus snorted, chortling and struggling to swallow another draught of wine. “You can’t look any worse than my miserable blacksmith of son. Besides, you will soon become my son-in-law. As your soon-to-be-father-in-law, and as your King, I would look upon your face again. Come now, hurry up, I haven’t got all day.”

Aidon laughed, though he knew the sound was mirthless. For the second time that day, he removed his helm, letting it drop to the floor in a loud clatter of metal crashing against stone. Onward he stared, enduring his brother’s intense scrutiny and silence. Finally, Zeus spoke, as if sensing Aidon’s increasing distress at his lack of comment. 

“It is not so bad,” he said. 

“Your long silence demonstrates to me otherwise, Zeus.”

“Who am I kidding? I’ll not spare your feelings any longer. You are one ugly son of a bitch, Aidon.”

Now Aidon laughed, and this time it was a genuine, good natured chuckle. “That bad, eh?” 

“Stars above, I can hardly believe you’re my brother. That fucking Underworld has twisted you right up,” Zeus continued, the gentle ribbing making Aidon’s heart feel lighter by the minute. “You are lucky I’ve picked out a bride for you. I doubt any woman would have you otherwise.”

“You’d be surprised,” Aidon joked. “Women faint at the mere sight of me. Aphrodite has seen fit to bless me with an ethereal charm, it seems.”

Zeus nearly fell out his chair in laughter. “Cut the horseshit, you’re killing me, Aidon!”

“See now, even you swoon before me. Clearly, Your Grace, I wear my helm to keep my handsome face hidden; it is too noble to be looked upon for longer than a minute.”

Zeus held his stomach, and kicked his feet up like a child, he was so overcome with laughter and mirth. “Stars above, I’ve missed you, Aidon, you old grizzled bastard you,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Take off your raiment and sit with me, let me see your wounds. Ganymede? Here, boy, help my brother remove his cuirass. There’s a good lad.”

“A new squire, Your Grace?”

Zeus chuckled. “You  _ would _ think that, wouldn’t you?”

Slowly, the pieces of armor came off, and Aidon had to sit almost immediately; he could no longer stand without the cuirass holding him upright. Distantly, he heard his brother whistle in awe at the sight of his still-healing wound. “Ganymede, leave us. I trust you know to not repeat anything of what you’ve seen here today.” 

“Of course, Your Grace,” the young man said, bowing low and quietly closing the great doors of oak behind him.

“What manner of beasts did this to you?” Zeus asked after they were alone, amazed. 

“Creatures of the pit,” Aidon answered, shutting his eyes tightly as Zeus applied an Olympian salve made of myrrh and ambrosia to his inflamed and ruined skin. 

“Interesting. No wonder the wound is slow to heal, even with ambrosia…” 

“If you think  _ I  _ look bad, you should see  _ them _ .”

Zeus did not laugh but instead looked Aidon straight in the eyes, his stare the piercing gaze of a King among Kings. “What were you doing in that forsaken place?”

Aidon told him, careful to not make too much mention of Trico, though he suspected Zeus already had an inkling of the pain that held his spirit in chains. 

“So you are requesting use of my army,” Zeus said. 

“And that of Poseidon’s, though I will need your help to convince him.”

“I see.”

“Zeus, this is serious.”

“I cannot spare my warriors, Aidon.”

“A regiment of Amazons, Zeus, that is all I ask.”

“A whole _ regiment  _ of my most elite warriors—a tall order, even for you, Aidon. You have a corps of soldiers; use it.”

Trico’s death flashed before Aidon’s eyes, grisly and haunting, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from shedding tears. 

“Stars above, Aidon, what is this shadow that has crossed your face?”

“You do not know the horrors of the pit, Zeus,” Aidon answered, breathless. “The very ground writhes and gnaws at the flesh of a god and the daimon of a mortal; the sun sits in near-complete eclipse, creating a sky of shaded scarlet the same color of mortal blood...and, the closer one gets to the source of the expansion, the more dire and evil the place becomes. 

“As I travel through my lands, I can hear the rumblings of the enemy’s drums in my mind. They lie in wait, accumulating, calculating the perfect time to strike. I’ve placed two divisions of warriors along the borders of Chthonia, and the river of flames, Phlegethon, keeps all but the most foolish and hardy of shades from attempting to cross the the walls, and yet—”

“And yet you are possessed by phobos. I’ve not seen you like this in ages. What else happened there?” 

Aidon bristled, gripping tightly onto his ever-fleeting self composure. “Phobos does not possess me, brother. I do not want my lands overrun by whatever ancient abominations make their homes in Tartarus. I do not know their number or when they will choose to strike. My subjects have already suffered in life; I would not see them suffer, too, in death.”

“Brother, I see now that you will retreat into deflections. Physical pain is a rarity among us, though not unheard of. If you do not wish to speak of the other wound I see so plainly written about your features, then so be it. I cannot change my stance either way, so the point is moot. 

“You speak of wanting to protect your subjects, so you must understand, Aidon, that my intention is to protect my subjects as well. As we speak, man-to-man, the gods of the eastern spheres play war games and make plans to march upon the halls in which we now sit.”

_ War with the eastern lords?  _ Ridiculous, although not unprecedented. As mortal empires and kingdoms rose and fell, so too did the immortal lords of those lands rise and fall. That would explain Zeus’s apparent exhaustion. Still, something did not add up. Hecate traveled to the eastern spheres quite frequently as Aidon’s emissary, bringing back gifts and news aplenty, and she had not made any mention of war rumblings. 

“The eastern spheres are vast and numerous, Your Grace, you will have to be more specific,” Aidon stated, not bothering to hide his confusion. 

“Mazda.”

“So now the god of Persia marches with his subjects. Fascinating that he would even bother dealing directly with you.”

Zeus shrugged, though Aidon could tell it was from an effort to appear nonchalant, rather than a nonchalant gesture in it of itself. “He, like his subjects, sees Hellas as a fruit ripe for plucking. And why not? Each polis fights the other, razing their cities, destroying the flowers of their youth. 

“The Argives fight the Phokians, the Phokians fight the Athenians, the Athenians fight the Spartans; they rape and pillage and enslave each other, leaving Hellas on the brink of total annihilation, at war with herself. Persia, in all her magnificent glory, stands ready to fill the void. I would not mind the stability the yoke of her people would bring, but—”

“You do not share power.”

“You know the truth of my heart, Aidon.”

“You give me too much credit, Your Grace.”

Zeus smiled, though his expression revealed a deep sorrow. “So you see now, why I must keep my warriors here,” he said, his voice low, almost ashamed. “I will not allow Mazda or his worshippers to march into Hellas, unabated. Even now, the great mortal emperor Darius marches ever westward, his vast and elite army desecrating the statues and temples of gods that will now be forced to reckon with all mortal afflictions, left without the worship of their subjects…” Zeus trailed off, his shoulders sagging heavily. “No, my dear brother, I cannot help you. And…there’s something more you should know, to complete this order of bad news on a day of celebration.”

Kora was the bad news; or, to be more precise, her mother, Demeter, was the bad news. In the days preceding the Ball, shortly after Aidon had returned from his excursion into Tartarus, Demeter had beheld him in a vision, a herald of decay and death. Of course, at this time Aidon had been recovering from his wounds, on the precipice of total oblivion and in and out of a state of fever and delirium; there was no way he could have visited Eleusis. 

And yet, Demeter had seen him, a figure of darkness and foreboding underneath his helm, and she grew frightened for the fate of her daughter. At once, she called Zeus, invoking his name with such power that he could not ignore her plea, and he arrived at Eleusis in a crash, as if struck down by his own lightning bolt.

“Why have you called me here, Demeter?” he asked, annoyed and frustrated with the Lady of the Harvest. Mazda was gathering his forces at a rapid rate already, and Zeus had only begun to perceive the danger that now threatened the whole realm of Hellas. 

“To see the monster our brother has become.”

And so Zeus waited, the strength of Demeter’s conviction overwhelming his own urgency to marshal his army, and indeed he too saw the vision of his brother in the form of darkness incarnate—and he too felt fear grip his heart. Yet Zeus knew this dark form was only a vision, for Hermes had brought several letters from the witch-titan Hecate, which described in full the current wounded state of his brother; and which stated that Aidon, now able to speak again, requested an audience with him at his earliest convenience, even at the Ball, if that happened to be the case. 

Whatever vision he and his sister had seen, that was all it was—a vision. Perhaps a trick of the very enemy Zeus was attempting to defend against. Yet she would not see reason, and who could blame her? For Demeter’s daughter was her life, the flower of her love and strength; moreover, she had not seen Aidon since the end of the Titan War, during the division of the greater spheres of Hellas amongst her brothers. She no longer knew him from Anubis or Baal or Mazda, and yet she had promised her daughter to him, a veritable stranger, as if the girl were an object. For all his might, Zeus could not calm his sister; phobos now possessed her spirit. She was a lioness in the midst of passion, defending her cub, and she would do anything to protect her child, even if that protection would be ultimately harmful. 

So now this left Zeus in a predicament, because he was running out of the allotted days to keep the young maiden Kora at court. Demeter would not break the ancient laws that bound even the gods; Kora would be safe at Olympios, so long as she stayed. But Zeus feared for his daughter and her fast-approaching return to Eleusis, because there, Demeter could and would do any number of heinous acts in the name of protecting her child. 

“What will she do?” Aidon asked, clearly disturbed at this turn of events. 

“Truly, Aidon, I do not know. But you must act quickly, for our sister is not to be trifled with and the girl returns to her on the morrow.”

“Will she not speak with me?”

  
“Unlikely, brother. She believes she has already spoken to you, and she has seen you as an alien; to her, you are no longer the brother that fought beside her valiantly in the War, but the dark lord of a dark realm. Changed and evil, as if you were the very embodiment of the Lords of Longing that the abominations of the pit worship.”

Aidon shuddered. How could she think that? ...And yet, how could she not? After all, he had kept himself hidden from mortals, even those invited to Olympios. For all Demeter knew, Aidon was indeed the humorless king who ruled over a realm of sorrow with an iron fist, and he would make her daughter into such a creature as well. He understood her parental fears at once, even if he did not agree with them. 

“I see,” Aidon said, clenching his fists. 

Zeus peered at him. “What do you plan to do?”

“With your blessing,” Aidon said, standing and slowly replacing his cuirass, “I plan to take Kora to my realm and make her my wife.”

“Of course you have my blessing, Aidon, but what will you do... after all that?” Zeus meant the pit. 

“And after all that,” Aidon said, belting his sword back onto his his hips, “we shall see, won’t we?”

Lightning flashed before Aidon’s eyes; he was brought back into the present. He took a deep breath, motioning his horses forward. “For once, this is not Zeus’s fault. This is no one’s fault. It is simply the universe, acting as it wills.” 

“I hope you are right, my lord,” Hecate said, but her king was already gone, ripped through the Gates of Hades into the sphere of Hellas. “The drums of war beat above and below us,” she finished. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 7: The Kidnapping

Chapter 7: The Kidnapping

The breaths came out shallow. In, out, in, out. Panicked, even in sleep. A gentle knocking thundered in her mind and pulled her from her troubled slumber. A warm, golden light slowly began to fill the chamber, illuminating the elegant carvings etched in its walls: the creation of the cosmos and the world. Again the knocking came, followed by his voice calling for her. 

“Kora. Kora, please—”

“Go away!”

She hugged her knees to her chest, shut her eyes tightly. Ash still coated her skin, and the smell of steel and smoke enveloped her. Her wool dress irritated and chafed, and barely covered her body anymore. Her legs throbbed in a constant, dull pain. She wanted desperately to bathe, to eat, to see her mother again—

_ No _ , she remembered. No, she did not want that. 

Outside the door she heard a heavy sigh, a shuffling of fabric, and retreating footsteps. Her captor gone, she could sleep once more, fall back into sweet oblivion. Yet she did not want to sleep, because in her dreams she saw him: imposing, inscrutable, inescapable. 

_ I hate him _ , she thought, balling her hands into white-knuckled fists. Around her, the room groaned and shook. Hot tears formed at the edges of her eyes and began to spill out, unabated. 

At once she was asleep again, and her in her dreams she stumbled from nightmare to nightmare. 

Hands in her hair, pulling gently on loose strands. The sunlight dripping lazily over her skin like honey, the smell of blossoming flowers in the air. Home, she was home. She shut her eyes. 

_ Let me stay here, in this moment _ . 

“You’re so quiet, my lady.”

“Stop that,” Kora sighed.

“Stop what, my lady?”

“Calling me that.”

“Calling you what, my lady?”

“That, exactly that: my lady. Stop it.”

“Would you prefer it if I call you “Princess”?” 

“Disgusting,” Kora said, scrunching her nose. “Even worse.”

Her best friend, Cassandra, laughed, and continued her work braiding Kora’s hair. 

“Forgive me, Kora, it’s just not every day I get to play handmaiden to _divine_ _royalty_.”

“Believe me,” Kora said, observing blades of grass gently swaying, “being divine royalty is not all it’s cracked up to be.” 

Cassandra scoffed. “Really now, Kora, how bad could it be?”

Kora looked down, saw an ant crawl over the top of her foot. 

“Bad,” she answered simply, picking the small creature up. She let it run across her fingers. 

“Fine, fine, fine. I suppose it must be. Your mood since returning has been awful.”

That was true. Since she had returned from Olympios, Kora had been feeling downright miserable—and the fact that her mother treated her coldly, like she was now somehow diseased, certainly did not help. 

“I don’t think I’m ever going back,” Kora mused.

“...Really?” Cassandra asked, incredulous.

“Really.”

“Can you do that, as a Princess? What about, well, you know—”

“What about what, my friend?”

“Well…”

“Stars above, spit it out.”

“Marriage, Kora! I doubt the King would allow you stay unmarried…”

She shrugged, winced as Cassandra pulled too hard on a strand of hair. “The Weaver isn’t married.”

“That’s because she’s a catty shre—”

“Shhh!”

“Well, she is! Did you hear about what she did to that poor girl who dared— _ dared _ —to challenge her to a weaving contest? Turned her into a horrible eight-legged insect with fangs, that’s what. With  _ fangs _ , Kora!” 

“I know. That’s why you don’t need to be heard insulting her. Remember that only us gods and goddesses are allowed to be prideful. It’s a sin for you humans.”

Cassandra stopped brushing Kora’s hair, moved to sit in front of her, and stared. Brown, bright eyes bore into Kora’s own. They sat in silence for several minutes, until finally Cassandra’s lip curled up slightly. Soon she burst out laughing, and so too did Kora, and their shared mirth felt as warm and comforting as the rays of the setting sun on their skin.    
  
“There’s my friend,” Cassandra said, smiling brightly at her. “There’s the Lady of Flowers we all know and adore.”

Kora smiled back. Having a friendship with a human—or multiple humans, in truth—was generally frowned upon by the Lords and Ladies of Olympios. The argument went that such friendships would create a sense of familiarity and entitlement between the rulers and their subjects, and the King was not one for having his authority challenged in any way. Yet she and her mother had always maintained a close relationship with their human subjects. 

They did not live in a palace, but rather a small hut that even the poorest peasant could call home. Mother and daughter tilled the land together with the humans; and, though the region was not especially rich in gold and silver, food was abundant and the people were healthy. And besides, both the gods and goddesses had their fair share of liaisons with humans and innumerable resulting bastards; in Kora’s mind, friendship should not have been the fear. 

“There’s that look again. What has you so upset, Kora?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Kora.”

“I’m not!”

“You may be able to fool yourself,  _ my lady _ , but you can’t fool me. Rarely have I seen you look so sad. What happened on Olympios?”

_ Where to begin?  _ Kora thought. The jeers of the gods, the verbal lashings of Athena, the secret kisses she shared…and the way he left her feeling confused and angry. 

She settled for telling Cassandra the story only in the vaguest of terms. 

“I  _ told  _ you she was a shrew!”

“Shhh, keep your voice down, Cassandra! She could be listening.”

“I can’t believe she’d be so cruel to you. You are her sister!”

“But I’m bastard, as she so helpfully would remind me every chance she got.”

“So? Do you think the Great King would ever abdicate to her even if she were the only heir?”

“Of course not. Man plans and the gods laugh; gods plan and Fortune laughs. She will never be Queen. But she has her reasons for being cruel. War has made her hard. At least, that’s what he told me.”

A wry smile pulled at Cassandra’s lips. “I think she’s jealous of you and your mystery man.”

Kora blushed. “She has no idea about him. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

“Not even your mother?”

“She’d skin me alive.”

“Kora, I’m  _ scandalized _ . Now I know what’s turned you so sour. I’d be in a foul mood too, keeping a secret like that from my mother.”

Kora laughed, though the sound was not light and airy. She felt heavy. “You speak the truth. My mother has been... _ cold _ , since my return yesterday evening. It’s like she could sense that, I don’t know, sense that—”

“That you are no longer her sacred virgin?”

“ _ Cassandra! No!  _ I  _ told _ you we didn’t get that far.”

“You know your secret is safe with me, right?”

“Stars above.”

“I wonder what it’s like to be taken by a god… Oh, the sounds I’d make! Yes,  _ ravage me, my lord _ !” Cassandra fell onto her back, laughing and arching her pelvis into the air exaggeratedly. 

“ _ Cassandra, knock it off. _ ” 

“Take me, Lord Whoever. Oh yes, there, there!”

“Stars above, Cassandra, I will smite you.”

Cassandra sat up laughing, with tears in her eyes and a wide smile on her face. “She really doesn’t know?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“I don’t envy your having to tell her.”

“She will never know, unless your ox braying just now tipped her off.”

“Hey now, men appreciate some noise in the throes of lovemaking. Who was he, anyway?”

Kora sighed, deeply. She leaned forward to lie down on her stomach, rested her hands beneath her chin.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Cassandra. And if you did believe me...I fear you’d think of me differently.”

“Kora, Kora, Kora. You can’t just say something like that—now you obviously _ have _ to tell me who he was, or do you wish me to die from the suspense?”

Kora smiled. Before her, a small weed had begun to sprout slowly; she watched it with earnest attention. 

“No dying today. I’ll give you three chances to guess.”

“The War Dog.”

“Stars above—no. No. Absolutely not. Now I have that image in my mind, and I blame you.”

“Must be a nice image. He seems quite handsome. Well, from the sculptures, anyway.”

“No. And he’s not. Guess again.”

“The Ocean Lord.”

“No. One more try.” The weed was growing larger now, and at a faster rate. Kora raised an eyebrow. _Curious._

“Stars, I don’t know, Kora! Tell me!”

“One more guess. That’s all you have.”

“Fine, fine, fine. The Messenger.”

“Good guess.”

“But...wrong?”

“Of course.”

“ _ Tell me! _ ”

In the distance, Kora could hear her mother calling her name. She shut her eyes, grit her teeth.

“Kora?”

“Something is different about her,” Kora suddenly said, her words a torrent, leaving her breathless. “When I came home, still in my silk dress and makeup, gifts from the Lady of Love and Beauty herself, Mother had me remove the dress and throw it into our fire pit. She had me spin a new dress from wool and use what remained of my silk dress to wipe my face of makeup. It’s like she thinks I’ve become a completely different person—as though she must purge me of the influence of Olympios. She’s...frightened. She looks at me, and there is only hatred in her eyes. I’ve never seen her like this before, Cassandra.”

Cassandra placed her hand on Kora’s back, began rubbing in small circles. Demeter’s call came once again, even more insistent than the last. 

“Kora...forgive me, but...If your mother is frightened, maybe we should go to the village ealdorman? For the safety of the people.”

“No. No, there’s no need to worry about that. Mother wouldn’t hurt the people of Eleusis, and least of all the people of this village. You know that. Her problem is with me. I’ve...I’ve  _ upset _ her, somehow.”

Before her, the weed now began to flower: a solitary white narcissus plant in full bloom.  _ What’s this?  _ She stood, moved to get a closer look. 

“Did you see how quickly that flower bloomed?”

“What? No? I mean, is that strange? You  _ are _ the Lady of Flowers, Kora.”

“No, but  _ I  _ didn’t make it bloom. It just...sprouted there, and grew, and bloomed, within the last few minutes.”

“I think you need to rest, Kora.”

Kora sighed, pulled the flower roughly from the ground. “This flower, right here. See this? Narcissus flowers don’t just sprout from the soil here. I know about all the seeds that the animals and wind carry to this hamlet. I can...I can  _ sense _ them. If a narcissus seed had been planted here, I would’ve known. This is not a natural flower.” She suddenly dropped the blossom, felt a cold feeling of panic begin to rise in her chest. “It—it shouldn’t be here. It’s  _ wrong _ .”

“Kora, you are a _ goddess _ —a creator of miracles! Don’t be upset over seeing a new plant, of all things.” 

“Cassandra, you don’t understand—”

“ _ Why didn’t you come when I called for you? _ ”

Her mother’s voice was hard, calculating. Cruel.

“Mother, I’m sorry. I was just on my way.”

“Don’t lie to me, child.”

“My lady, it is my fault. I wasn’t finished with brushing her hair and—”

“This matter does not concern you,  _ human _ .”

“Mother, what is the matter?”

“The matter is that you did not come when I called for you. Now come.” Her mother grabbed her wrist violently. 

“Mother, why are you being this way?”

“We have very little time, daughter. I can already sense him.”

“What? Sense who?”

“I cannot answer your questions, Kora. I am doing this to keep you safe. Drink this now.”

She pushed a cup of dark liquid to Kora’s lips. 

“What is  _ that _ ?” Kora grimaced at the smell.  _ Rotten and dying. _

“There is no time. He is close. Drink it now.”

“No. Let me go. You’re  _ hurting  _ me.  _ You’re hurting me! Moth— _ ”

Her mother pushed the liquid past her lips, forced her to drink the foul draught. As soon as the liquid hit her stomach, Kora dropped to her knees and retched. 

“There,” Demeter said, her eyes crazed. “It is done. He can’t have you now.” 

“My lady Demeter, what have you—”

“ _ Silence _ , human!”

From the ground came stalks of grain, fierce and sharp like daggers, and they pierced through Cassandra’s feet and the back of her calves, tearing asunder the tendons, paralyzing her. 

“Cassandra!” Kora shouted. Nauseous and in pain, she crawled to her friend. Inside, she felt as though she were on fire. 

“Kora, I can’t move—”

“You’re okay. It’ll be all right. I’m here.”

From behind, Kora could hear her mother whispering to herself.

“He is here.”

“Who i-i-is she t-t-t-talking about K-k-k-kora?” Cassandra was shaking from pain.

“I don’t know.”

“ _ Come and just try to take her, you blackhearted coward! _ ”

The air grew incredibly still, such that only their breathing could be heard. 

“ _Come now, brother. Come and claim your bride, if you dare! These are my lands, and in my lands, I am the one with power!_ ”  
  
 _Phobos._ Kora felt it everywhere. It poured from her mother; she overflowed with it. Phobos now possessed her mother, and Kora began to feel its cruel grip on her own heart. _Stay calm._   
  


“Kora, your—your  _ legs. Oh gods.”  _

First came the chill. The surrounding icy air bit at her skin and burrowed down into her flesh. She had never felt such cold before. Their breath came out as clouds of white; frost began to coat the ground, killing every blade of grass or flower in its wake.

Then came the shaking; the earth beneath her feet rumbled with primordial power until, in the distance before her, she saw  _ it: _ a fissure splitting the ground open. Ghastly and monstrous, stones screamed as they broke apart, shear and deafening. She could taste metal and smell smoke. The Earth had a new open wound, and was now bleeding molten rock and ash. 

From behind, Kora heard her mother shout—but she paid her no heed, for out of the fissure came four great black stallions and their master.

_ Aidoneus. _

Black smoke poured forth from the fissure, and soon the great chariot came barreling towards them, raging and unstoppable. The dark king drew his blade, Stygian black steel, and the trees of the glade began to freeze and decay in equal measure.    
  
Kora’s mother continued to shout, to wail, in a language Kora had never heard before and did not understand—and onward the Lord of the Dead came, dauntless. 

“Kora, run!” Cassandra’s feeble voice pierced through the noise around her. “Go!”

“No. I’m not leaving without you,” Kora said, defiant.

“My lady, you must!”

  
Kora’s breathing had turned shallow. Pain searing like fire tore through her feet, her mother’s spell slowly taking its effect. Every vein began to pop out of her skin, spewing red and gold, before turning into the small capillary roots of a tree. The tendons broke through the bottoms of her heels and pressed into the earth, bloody and enriching. The surface of her skin began to split and turn rough and hard, like tree bark. 

She couldn’t leave, even if she wanted to—and neither could Cassandra. 

“You are too late, Hades!” her mother screamed, causing the already-dying trees of the glade to break and fall in her fury. Wind howled, spinning into twisters of fury around them. “The transformation has already begun. Even now, she becomes one with the soil.”

“ _ Let her go, Demeter. _ ”

Calm. He sounded so calm, so cool and collected. His deep voice settled her, even as she continued to change. 

“She was mine to bring into the world, and she is  _ mine _ to destroy!”

The Lady of the Harvest sent out a volley of grain stalks, sharp as swords, hurtling towards the dark king. A horse shrieked in pain, and for a breathless moment, it looked as if the Lord of the Dead would be thrown from his chariot—but that would not be, for Hades calmed the animal, and sent the flying grain stalks hurtling back towards Demeter. Now wreathed in the black flames of the Underworld, the stalks pierced the protective shield of wind Demeter had created for herself, and struck her true in the arm.    
  
In that moment, Kora felt her mother’s spell break; felt her changing flesh begin to shift back into what it once was...but painfully, so very painfully. Beside her, she heard Cassandra laboring for air; the girl had been struck through the neck with one of the grain stalks.  _ No. Stars above, no. Please. Not her.  _   
  
Red blood poured from the girl’s throat, vibrant and gushing. She mouthed words, but only managed to gurgle sounds. Kora grabbed her hand, felt that her pulse was weak. 

“Shhhhh, don’t speak. You’re okay. You’re okay, Cassandra.”

More gurgling, a further weakening of the pulse. Loose fingers; then, no grip at all. 

Horrified, Kora watched as the light disappeared from her friend’s bright eyes, felt the frigid chill of Death brush past her skin. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no—” 

Kora held Cassandra’s limp body against her, hoping that somehow her influence as a Daughter of Zeus would force Death to return her friend’s soul. Inside her heart, she could hear Death’s obstinate refusal, unyielding as the master it served. Inside her heart, she cursed both Death and its lord-king. 

A loud crack split inside her ears, the sound of her mother’s unwavering will fighting against the unrelenting will of Hades. 

  
The sound of rage: roaring, ear-piercing, thunderous. 

Kora wanted to scream; she wanted to run; she wanted to carry Cassandra away and lay her to rest.

_ I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here. _

But she could do none of these things...for she was soon lifted from the ground, roughly and painfully. Around her waist, a strong grip pressed her close to an armor breastplate. She did not look at him; she knew that he did not bring Cassandra. She did not want him to bring  _ her,  _ either; she not want him to pull her from her home, yet she did not resist him. This was not home anymore.   
  
The pain in her legs kept Kora paralyzed. She did not want to fight him; she wanted to die.    
  
The pain and fear of her mother made Kora press her face to his chest. She did not want to fight him; she wanted to mourn. 

She smelled blood and heard her mother wailing; howling, a storm of rage and fury. She heard the sound of something piercing armor and then flesh, felt herself almost being dropped, and knew then that her mother had succeeded in wounding her captor. 

“Cassandra,” she whispered, heard a rough, noncommittal grunt of apology in return. 

_ I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here. _

“Go back for her.”

“I can’t, Kora.”

They had entered the fissure now; she could tell they were near the portal. 

_ “Go back for her!” _

_ “No.” _

The sound came again, a sharp  _ twack _ , and he cursed softly, almost losing his grip on the reigns of his chariot. He threw her over his shoulder now, and she could see the two stalks that had pierced through his armor. The wounds looked deep.  _ He left her. _ She pounded on each stalk, pushing them further into his flesh.  _ He left Cassandra there to rot, like she was nothing. _

“ _ Ow!  _ Hey, what the  _ fuck _ are you doing?”

“You left her.” 

“ _ Stop _ —”

She wanted to hurt him—and she did, for as they traveled through the portal, he lost his balance, and crashed the chariot. 

“Close the gate, close the gate!”

“My lord, are you all right?”

“Lady Kora, is she—”

“What happened?”

“Check on the lady!”

“My lord, you’re wounded!”

“Has Demeter gone  _ insane _ ?”

Sounds of palace staff rushed passed her ears. Different voices all around her. She felt dizzy. 

“My lady, can you stand? Your legs...” A woman’s voice.

“ _ Where is he? _ ” Kora stood, anger pushing her forward. 

The woman pointed, and sure enough there he was, standing a good three heads taller than everyone else, even hunched over in pain. And still with his stupid, ridiculous helm on.

She marched over to him, pushing past concerned servants.

“Ah, there she is. Do you feel better after making us crash?” He sounded annoyed and...exhausted.  _ How dare he? Bastard. _

“Take off your helm.”

“Excuse me?” He stepped back, stunned.

“You heard me, Lord Hades. Take off your helm.”

“So we’re back to  _ that _ now?”

Around them, she could feel the servants staring. She didn’t care.

“Do it.”

He sighed and then slowly—heavily—removed his helm, let it fall to the ground. Kora’s eyes grew wide.

His hair was ash-white, and closely-cropped. He kept no beard, though she could see the beginnings of stubble; he clearly hadn’t shaved recently. His jaw was square and sharp, his nose well-made and befitting of a god. Handsome, of course. And yet, from his forehead sprouted two black horns, and the right one was a broken ruin. Indeed, the skin at the base of the horn looked red and angry—split and sore, the cause of unending headaches. And he had one good eye, its color that of a burning blue flame; the other was white and clouded over, blind. A deep scar ran from his broken horn down his forehead, through this ruined eye, and down his cheek, all the way past his clavicle. Part of his right ear was missing, either bitten off or sliced off in battle. He could have been the God of War. 

He looked at her expectantly, as if asking her  _ Is this what you wanted to see? _

“Well, what now?”

“Now this,” Kora said, and she reached up and slapped him; slapped him with all the strength she had. The sound could be heard all throughout the palace. The servants stood silent, in complete shock at the sight of their king being slapped, and being slapped _ hard. _ Her hand broke upon the contact, but she didn’t care; at least she had left a mark on his skin. 

“Stars, what was  _ that _ for?” 

“You left my friend there to rot.”

“....Kora, I’m sorr— _ Kora _ !”

It was too late; she was falling, falling, falling. The transformation had begun again. He caught her, held her to him. The last thing she saw before fading into oblivion was his face: his stupid, horrible, ruined face, looking down at her with concern. 

“I hate you,” she whispered, so low that only he could hear.

“I know.”

  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 8: The Dreaming

Aidon shut his eyes. The muscles in his abdomen spasmed painfully every time his fingers grazed his wounds. He clenched his jaw, stared with purposeful focus into the mirror. The sharp ends of Demeter’s horrid weapons had pushed from his back out through his stomach. She really had tried to kill him. 

He grabbed one end, felt nausea ripple through him, and cursed. 

“Sire, if I may…”

“You may not, Xeo,” he ground out. Stars, he was sweating. He’d been such a fool to challenge her in her own domain. He shook his head.  _ Nothing to be done about that _ , he thought. The girl needed protection. Had he arrived any later, she likely would be completely one with the forests. He winced.  _ She may still become so, even now _ . 

“My lord, it just seems that—”

He threw the young man a glare, and that was enough to quiet the spirited shade. He clenched his jaw again, grabbed the end of a stalk, bit back his nausea, and pulled. The stalk ripped through him, tearing his flesh further apart. In his mind, he saw scenes of battle from the old war, and his legs began to shake. He braced himself against the wall, ichor staining his hand while the other held his abdomen. 

“One,” he muttered to himself, breathing heavily. “Now for the other.” He steeled himself, pulled again. 

When it was done, the shade handed him a thread and needle, held the stalks that had wounded his master. A god striking another god in hatred was a grievous affair, and he had yet to heal completely from his time in the pit. Aidon had tried to let the wounds heal on their own, but it was apparent to him now that he would need to treat them somehow, like in the days of the war. Even with treatment, the wounds would heal slowly; days, weeks perhaps. His cheek still smarted from Kora’s slap. 

_ Fates, _ she was strong. Even weakened by her mother’s horrid curse, she managed to strike him so forcefully as to send him reeling backward. That was the second time he had lost his balance because of her in a matter of minutes. Such audacity! To strike a god, a king, in his own realm!  _ Wicked girl. _ To think, he had said she was not a good match. What a fool he had been. She was a wild little thing, and he would have to be careful around her, lest she slit his throat herself. 

He smiled, wanting to laugh at the irony. He remembered the way she asked him—no,  _ demanded— _ that he kiss her. The way she sat on his lap, pinning him most indecently against the wall.  _ Pinned him _ , a king;  _ mounted _ him, ground her heat against him, exerted power over him like there weren’t... _ rules _ , against such things. And, damn his pride, he enjoyed all of it, hadn’t he? Oh yes, yes he had. He was intoxicated by her smell, her true scent of lavender and vines—her scent of Life, personified—and not the horrid animal stench Demeter had apparently forced upon her. Her willingness to close her eyes for him, to trust him, utterly fearless. Wild, wild woman. 

He enjoyed the way she wanted to touch him, though his own fear made him keep her hands in one place. She was so willing, so brazen and bold—and when was the last time a woman showed him any interest like that? Centuries, at the very least. Besides, every single one soon lost interest as soon as they’d found out who he was, and who could blame them?

_ Not her _ , he thought, wickedly.  _ Dangerous woman _ . 

He’d grown old since those days, beyond the heady lusts of youth, and even in his most carnal moments, a woman spurning him had not hurt. 

Much. 

But she did not spurn him, this little wanton, fierce creature of forests and vines. She wanted him, and in her want, filled him with a exhilarating desire for her. 

Now he had her, and she hated him, and rightfully too. And he’d be lying if he didn’t say the shock on her face when she saw him, cowless, hadn’t stung. The gods were a shallow and fickle lot, and ugliness was anathema to their kind. Just his Fortune that she’d demanded to see his face, just like she demanded everything else from him—and he gave into her, and cursed himself for losing his mind so easily over a woman. So now she had seen him, in all his gnarled glory, and she surely hated that too. He felt an uncharacteristic ache in his chest. 

She had still not come out of her quarters, and he was beginning to worry. Was she still turning into a tree? Demeter’s powers were potent and cruel, even in his domain. Leaving Kora alone much longer would not do.  _ Women need other women _ , he thought, sighing. She certainly wanted nothing to do with him.  _ Perhaps Hecate would be willing to talk to her _ …

Or perhaps he could find the shade of the woman she cared so deeply about. He mulled the thought over. Seeing her friend as a shade would likely just upset her more, and yet—

_ Worth the effort _ , he decided, nodding to himself. 

With trembling fingers, he threaded the needle. He was sitting now, his shaking legs no longer able to hold him upright. He sucked in a sharp breath as he pierced his own skin, began the work to sew his wounds shut. 

“Lord Aidoneus, is it impossible for you to accept assistance from your servants?”

Hot anger surged through his veins at the shade’s impetuousness, but he held his breath, let the anger subside. He was careful not to touch the piercing he received in the pit, for that was the work of a dark power more potent and ancient than even his father. Heat radiated from it, even now, as if it were fresh. As long as the wound did not begin to fester, he would ignore it; just as he would ignore his anger and the grief that still tugged at him, and the growing ache in his heart. Zeus and Poseidon could afford to give into their passions, to stew in their petty grudges; Hera too, and Demeter apparently as well. The Underworld would not abide a ruler who could not master himself. 

“You  _ are _ assisting me, Xeo,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. Inwardly, he winced. He had sounded so much like his father just then.  _ Calm yourself. _

“Assistance from the doctors, I mean. You are King, Your Grace. A King need not rely on his own hands for medical care.”

Aidon sighed, shaky and exhausted. “Do you know why I picked you to be my squire, Xeo?”

The shade gulped, betraying the fear he felt. “No, Your Grace.”

“I saw your heart,” Aidon said, biting back a curse. He would need to talk to Zeus; Demeter needed to be held accountable for this. She had seriously wounded him. He shuddered, piercing the needle again through his flesh.  _ Later _ , he thought. 

“Your Grace?”

“I saw your heart,” Aidon continued. “I saw that you had been Trico’s lover. I saw the pain you felt when he fell in battle in front of you.”

The shade tilted his head, bemused.

“Trico, Your Grace?”

Aidon cursed himself.  _ Idiot _ . Of course the boy would not know Trico by that name. 

“Astur,” he said, simply. 

“Oh,” the shade said, and Aidon thought that if the boy still had a body of flesh and blood, he would be blushing. “Am I—am I to be your lover, Your Grace?”

“ _ What? _ No.” Aidon bristled, stopped his work on his stitching. “What kind of cad do you take me for, boy?”

The shade’s eyes grew wide, alarmed. “N-none, Your Grace. It is well known that the Unseen King dwells alone and—”

“So the mortals now believe I  _ rape the souls of the dead _ , is that it?”

“No, Your Grace, not at all—”

Aidon was furious, seething will barely-controlled rage. He had not felt such anger in many years, and its potency startled him. The events of the last few weeks had frayed his nerves badly. 

_ Calm yourself _ . 

“Stop flapping your tongue before I send you to the pit, boy. I do not take my subjects as lovers. You knew Astur in life. In death, he was my squire, my most trusted assistant. His spirit burned brightly, too brightly to rest here. He often challenged me, and I accepted it, because that was who he was; I admired his strength of will. When I saw him in your heart, in that final embrace, I knew you would be the same. However,” Aidon looked pointedly at Xeo, who was now trembling in fear, “it seems I may have been mistaken, because he also had the good grace to know when to  _ stop talking _ .”

The shade did not say another word after that.  _ Good _ , Aidon thought.  _ He is learning _ . 

A short time later, Aidon attempted to conduct the rest of his daily routine. He desperately needed to shave. He lathered his face, took out his small bronze blade, and almost immediately nicked himself. He cursed; his hands were shaking far too much now, his self-stitching having drained any dexterity he had left. Already he was feeling off-kilter and the day had barely begun. 

“Your Grace—”

“Not  _ now _ , Xeo. And no, you cannot serve as my barber.”

“Hypnos requests speak with you.”

Aidon cursed, wiped the soap from his face. Hypnos was beginning to become a nuisance. He dressed himself slowly and carefully, placed his platinum crown atop his head. He stepped into his throne room, sat down with purpose. 

“You are looking rather haggard, King Hades, Unseen Lord of the Unseen Lands,” Hypnos said, bowing deeply. An involuntary shiver ran through Aidon at the sound of his title, the name of his realm. An easy smile spread across Sleep’s calm face. 

“I suppose I am, Hypnos.”

“Such is the consequence of you purposefully avoiding my lands.”

“I would not be avoiding your lands if your son deigned to give me any sort of peace there.”

Now Hypnos smiled sadly, his black eyes casting downwards. “You do that to yourself, my friend. My son is only a boy.”

“Your whelp is a man full grown.”

“He is young. Younger than you when your own brother pulled you from the depths of your father’s bowels. He can only be your guide; it is not his fault that your spirit wishes so strongly to dwell in the violence of the past. Fates, Aidoneus: even Ares and Athena dream of things other than war. Fucking, strategizing, weaving—it’s not all carnage.”

Aidon huffed out in irritation. This wasn’t the first time Hypnos came to him with...concerns. The deathless did not need to sleep, not really, so Aidon would avoid it for as long as he possibly could. Days at first, and then months; with time, those stretches had grown longer and longer, spanning years. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid down and slept. 

“Your headaches would ease if you rested your eyes and walked through my lands again, old friend.”

“Doubtful, old  _ friend _ ,” Aidon snarled. 

“Your temper, too,” Hypnos said, still smiling. “You know, you’ve become quite taciturn.”

“Is there a reason for you coming here, Hypnos, besides lecturing me? Do you plan on forcing me to walk through your realm?”

Hypnos laughed, easy and relaxed. “No, Aidon. I suspect that will happen shortly enough on its own. Even a lord of your stature cannot resist the call of sleep and the dreaming forever.”

Aidon scoffed. “We shall see.” 

His head was pounding now, the din of new souls on the shores of the Styx sounding in his ears, and growing louder with every passing second. 

“Stubborn as always, my King. No, I am here because of the girl.”

Aidon’s ears perked up at that. He felt his heartbeat accelerate. “What about her?”

“You must know that she has spent days wandering through my realm.”

“Indeed I do.”

“Even now, she sleeps. It is not healthy, for a mortal or a god to roam in my lands for such a long duration, lest they...become trapped there. I trust that was not your goal for Demeter’s wilding.”

The pounding in his head was getting louder. It was too much. He felt his eyelids become heavy. “What do you suggest I do?”

Hypnos’ smile grew wider. “She dreams of you, you know.”

Aidon frowned, sat back in his throne. Heavy. He felt so heavy. “In terror, I’m sure. Your son is a cruel man, Hypnos.” He laughed bitterly. The girl could hate him forever, if she wanted to. He was bound to protect her now, and he would do his duty.

“Sometimes in terror, other times in anger, and many times in sadness. And still other times in,” Hypnos paused, then clicked his tongue, “ _ desire _ .”

Aidon looked up, startled. 

“Oh yes, my King. Imagine my surprise when I witnessed that memory in the dreaming. Seems there is still some life in you yet, though you’re wont to snuff it out in any way you can.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Aidon asked again.

“Wake her, my King. I cannot force her from my lands. She must leave of her own accord.” 

“But how am I to wake her, when I’ve no power in your untethered realm of sleep and dreams?”

Hypnos’ smile grew even wider, past his face. Aidon blinked, shifted in his throne. Something was wrong. Every movement he made was slow, as if he were stuck in sand. 

“ _ Hypnos _ ,” Aidon warned, his voice rumbling deep in his chest, already thick with sleep. 

“I told you that you could not resist the call of my halls for much longer, Hades. Please, enjoy your stay.”

“ _ Hypnos _ —”

He fell backward, plunging through time, landed in a puddle of mud and ichor. The sun sat low and large in the sky, covered in the darkness of eclipse. He tasted iron.

_ No _ . 

All around him, he heard a deep laughter. “The little god’s come back, and all alone too. Are you frightened, little god?”

He scrambled to stand in the mire, his footing unsteady. No armor, no sword, no bident, no army, no platoon. No protection. 

_ No, no, no, no, no, no _ —

“Brave of you to come here, little lordling, untethered from your body in the dreaming. No god-flesh for us to feast on now; only your spirit. But feast we shall, little god, yes, yes, yes.”

Aidon tried to concentrate, tried to call forth a weapon, to no avail. He had no skill or strength in the land of dreams. His heart beat wildly. The shadows around him grew closer and larger; the earth beneath him moved. Laughter, sinister and hungry, rolled over the dark landscape. Red eyes, thousands of them, peered at him all at once; he heard the flesh of thousand-toothed maws latching open, heard their tongues reaching out for him. 

He was surrounded. _ Morpheus _ , he called, desperate. A cold presence passed through him, brought him to his knees. Aidon dug his hands in the earth, felt his heart swell in relief when he felt dirt underneath his fingers.

“King Hades,” the Lord of Dreaming said, bowing low. “Welcome to my halls once again. It has been a long time.”

Aidon stood on shaky legs, looked up. The night sky loomed over them, a million stars sparkling worlds away. “A rather harsh welcome, don’t you think?”

The Dream Lord shrugged, casually and slowly. “I am not at fault for where your own mind chooses to go, Your Grace.”

“Your father has said as much,” Aidon muttered. “What are you two playing at?” From the corner of his eye, he examined the Dream Lord. Morpheus’ hair was black, as black as his own in the days before the war, and constantly moving as if he were submerged in water. A young man indeed, with the delicate features of adolescence and boyhood still clinging to him. Young like Xeo, young like Trico.    
  
_ Alive. _ Aidon clenched his jaw, looked away from the Dream Lord.

“Nothing, Your Grace. You are our king, yet even kings must rest and dream.”

“Hmmph. I never find rest roaming here. Better to stay awake and conduct my business, as I had been doing—before your dear father paid me a visit.”

“Do not be sore at my father, Your Grace. He went to you about the girl, not you.”

“So he said, and yet here I am.”

“You fell asleep. My father’s lands cannot be avoided forever, and neither can my halls. You need my guidance, King Hades, and fortunate for you, I am happy to oblige. Do you wish to see your ward?”

“My betrothed,” Aidon corrected. He _ did _ want to see her; wanted to make sure she was all right; wanted to wake her from her endless slumber. “Only if she wishes to see me.”

Morpheus smiled, the easy smile of his father. “She does. For now, at least. Come; I shall take you to her.”

“Morpheus, wait—”

The world shifted, turned from night to day. Around him, leaves shuddered and sighed in a cool and gentle breeze. The world above.    
  
He squinted, looked at the bright area before him from his place of shadow. A crystal pool sat there, cool and inviting, and he took one step forward before he heard a lovely sigh of pleasure, stopped in his tracks. Slowly, she came into view, running her fingers through her wild mane of fire. 

She moved closer, and at this distance, he could see she was naked. The sun shone off her shoulders, touching her body intimately. He watched the droplets of water drip slowly down her tawny skin, down to her breasts and even lower, and his throat suddenly felt very dry.

She looked so free, so full of life, and—

_ She’s bathing _ , he realized, his cheeks hot. He tore his view away from her, feeling like a pervert for staring. Ogling, really.  _ Brute.  _

“Curious,” Morpheus said, causing Aidon to nearly jump out of his skin. 

“ _ Stars _ , Morpheus,” he seethed, keeping his voice a harsh whisper. 

“Why do you not go to her?”

_ Because she is young, and I am old _ , Aidon thought, bitterly.  _ Because I stripped her from the only world she’s ever known, to bring her to my cold abode. Because I have already failed her, by failing to rescue her friend and leaving the poor girl unburied and unmourned. Because I am not the handsome young lordling she deserves, but a grizzled old man, drowning in memories of the past. Because I am god, and I hunger for her, as I have never hungered before, and that frightens me. _

“The grove will wither and die around me, as all living things do in the world above. I do not wish her to hate me even more than she already does, destroying this place of peace for her.”

“She is the goddess of life, and this is her world of dreaming. Your presence will kill nothing here unless she allows for it.”

“Morpheus—”

“Look again, Hades.”

And he did, and saw that she was staring at him, not in anger or fear, but in curiosity. She smiled, held out her hand to him, beckoned him.

“Go to her, my friend. This is her dream. She wants you here.”

And Aidon nodded, not quite listening. His feet moved of their own volition, pulling him forward until he reached the edge of the pond. The cool liquid lapped at his toes. 

“Finally, the big, scary dread Lord of the Dead arrives.”

Aidon smiled, despite his nervousness. “My apologies, Princess. Forgive an old man for being slow.”

“Old?” She laughed, and her gentle tittering sounded like music. “Older, perhaps, but not old.”

He laughed again. “You flatter me, darling.”

“Perhaps I do. Join me in my pool, old man?”

He nodded, moved to step forward, but her laughter stopped him—

“What are you doing?” she asked, throwing him a mischievous glance. 

“Joining you,” he answered, stupidly.

“Do you bathe with your clothes on, Aidon?”

“Oh,” he said. His cheeks burned. This was dangerous ground.  _ She does not truly want this, does she?  _ he wondered, bewildered. But he looked at her, saw the fire in her eyes, the challenge of a youthful goddess, and well, he couldn’t very well deny her now, could he? 

“Um—give me, give me a moment, Princess.” Already, she had thrown him off balance.  _ Dangerous even in her dreams _ . He ignored her laughter as he turned around, began to undress himself. He was sure his whole body had turned red; his skin was on fire with embarrassment. 

“You can come in now,  _ Lord Hades _ ,” she said, emphasizing his title. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he suppressed a shudder. “I’ll keep my eyes closed to protect your modesty.”

“Good,” he laughed, nervously. Small miracles. Slowly, he entered the cool water, and cringed; the water barely came up above his groin at its deepest point. 

“I am here,” he said, smiling awkwardly. Stars, he was fidgeting like a boy. She made him so nervous. 

She blinked at the shadow he caused in front of her. He did his best not to stare at her breasts or any other part of her exposed body, fixedly kept his gaze near the top of her head and clenched his toes in the mud beneath his feet.

“You are so tall,” she said, reaching out to touch his abdomen. Panic gripped him and he stepped back from her, but only just. She didn’t seem to notice. 

After a moment she said, “Kneel for me?” and he obliged, though reluctantly.  _ That _ she did notice. 

“Does it rankle you to listen to a woman, _Lord_ _Hades_?” she teased. 

They were at eye-level now, and he saw his ruined face reflected in her emerald green eyes. She kept using his title, throwing power behind it. He was shivering, even as he felt like he was overheating. 

“No,” he answered, truthfully. “You command with natural authority. I feel...compelled to listen to you, Princess.”

“But you do not like kneeling.”

His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “No indeed.”

She moved to circle him now, a predator.  _ Dangerous woman _ , he thought, his mind firing off panic signals to the rest of his body. He stayed rooted to his spot. 

“And why is that?” she asked, her tone innocent, betraying nothing. She was behind him now, he could tell. 

“It puts me in a vulnerable position,” he answered. Again, it was the truth. He had trouble lying to her, even in the land of dreams. 

“So it does,” she said, right next to his ear, and he could not suppress his shudder. “Such an old man, and yet so sensitive,” she giggled in his other ear. Her hand hovered right underneath his chin. He was breathing hard now, half-turgid and frightened out of his mind. “So sensitive that even a simple touch draws pain, yes?”

“Kora,” he warned, his voice raw.

“May I touch you, mighty Lord of the Dead?” she whispered. 

He shut his eyes. It was only a dream. It was  _ her _ hands, not the smarting lacerations of battle. It was her  _ hands _ , not the teeth of his father. Her hands, her hands, her hands. And  _ she _ wanted to to touch him. 

_ Let her _ .  _ She wants you here. _

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, but she caught the motion and began to lightly hold his neck, feeling his rapid pulse. 

She moved in front of him now, looked at him again with curiosity. No disgust. She did not find him disgusting.  _ Not yet, anyway. _ He swallowed hard, felt the warm touch of her palm against his skin.

He was fully erect now, and there would be no hiding it; his cock stook out and away from him, reaching up towards his navel. If she looked down into the water, she would most definitely see it; now he was thankful she made him kneel. 

Stars above—she really did make him feel like a young man, hard and mad with want with just the lightest touch. Unsure of what to do.

Inexperienced. 

Her hand traveled lower, down to his clavicle, following the line of his deep scar that trailed from his head to his hip. A horrible wound, that one. He swallowed hard at the memory, stuffed it down lest he’d be pulled back there and away from her. Her light fingers traced that line, stopping only when his stomach twitched at the sensation of her hands; she’d brushed a fresh stitching accidentally. She looked down, gasped. 

_ Oh, no _ . He wanted to hide from her. He had no idea how Zeus or Poseidon could waltz around proudly with their cocks out, stuffing themselves into anyone willing—or unwilling. Neither of them seemed to have developed his aversion to touch, his embarrassment over nakedness. 

“Forgive me,” he chuckled, hating how nervous he sounded even to his own ears. _ Weak _ . 

“May I touch you there?” she asked, and her voice sounded husky. She looked up at him, her eyes dark.  _ Fates _ , he did want her to touch him; wanted nothing more than to bury himself into her, again and again and again. Would she mount him, like she had on Olympios? Take her pleasure on him? He hoped she would, damn tradition and damn his pride.   
  
_ That is not why you are here _ , he chided himself. 

“No, Princess,” he said, groaning in frustration. She pouted, and her full lips together made him wonder what her mouth would feel like around him. His cock throbbed incessantly now, and he wanted nothing more than to pick her up fuck her where she stood, fuck her until the only words she knew were his name and his name alone.

“Do you not find me desirable?” she asked, her chin quivering. 

_ Wild woman, do you want me to destroy you? _

He wanted to scream. 

“I do find you desirable, Kora,” he said, almost breathless. “As you can see, plainly.”

“Then,” she said, mischief in her eyes again, “let me play with you.” 

_ Fuck it, _ he thought, darkly.  _ Let her do it. She wants you. Stick her, make her your wife already.  _

He clenched his jaw. She was still so close; warmth radiated off her and onto him.

“You do not know what it is you ask,” he ground out. 

“I think I do,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She lingered there, much too long, and as he turned his head to meet her lips with his own, she began kissing down his neck. He huffed out, annoyed, and she giggled. “I have the dread Lord of the Dead squirming beneath my fingers,” she whispered, smiling against his skin.

“Wicked girl,” he said, lightly grabbing a fistful of her hair. He pulled her head back and held her fast, and her flinty gaze only made his hunger greater.  _ Fearless _ , he thought. He peered down her, watching her pulse thrum. He leaned forward, kissed her there and then bit down as she moaned softly in his ear. She gasped loudly as he kissed the new mark he’d given her, pulled his head closer.  _ Insatiable _ . A malicious titter of laugher escaped from him. “I would make a meal out of you.”

He was losing control, and quickly. 

_ Stop this, you degenerate _ . 

  
He blinked, shook his head.

“Prove it to me,  _ Lord Hades _ .”

“ _ Prove _ it to you?” He pulled her flush against him, relished the feeling her skin on his. “Such a dangerous woman you are, to provoke me like that. Be careful about who you challenge. I am a king, and you are not ready for my carnal delights, my little virgin Princess.” His voice, already quite deep, came out as a low rumble from his chest, and he felt her shiver against him. Oh, she liked his voice, did she? That was something new. A wicked smile cracked across his face. Only then did he realize his mistake, because she pressed herself flush to his arousal, undulated her hips on him slowly and purposefully.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he groaned. 

_ Take her, she wants you, take her. _

“A sensitive king,” she teased, low and seductive. “Long alone,” she moved again, and his grip on her grew tighter, “long... _ untouched _ .”

_ This is only a fantasy.  _

She moved again, eliciting an involuntary moan from him. She giggled, the little minx. She had no idea who he was; what he wanted to do to her; how he wanted to break her. “Do you like that,  _ Lord Hades _ ? How I make you hard, how I make your cock feel?” 

_ Stars _ , the words coming out of her mouth. Speaking like a lowborn girl, wrapping around him like smoke—where did she learn such uncouth language? 

“You’ve some mouth on you, young lady.”

She laughed, perfectly innocent, ground herself against him again. 

“Stars, you are  _ wild, _ ” he hissed, intoxicated and lost to the sensation of her body in his arms. Her hand reached down, and he did not stop her as she began to stroke him, rubbing her thumb over him expertly. His eyes rolled back, his hips jerked forward involuntarily. 

She laughed again. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” he said. “Oh,  _ yes _ .”

_ You’re supposed to wake her up, not fuck her in her dreams like a pervert. _

“Seems like  _ I _ will be the one to make a meal out of  _ you _ ,” she laughed into his ear. Oh, she wanted to taunt him now, did she? He growled, actually growled in response, and hitched her legs up above his waist. She squealed in surprise, and perhaps a little in fear. He ignored it, continued to stand and then walk to the edge of the pool, where he laid her flat on her back, and not too kindly, either. She would learn just how rough he could be; learn just what her boldness would get her. He’d leave his marks all over her and she’d see what kind of man he was. 

He looked down at her, breathing hard. Now he could see fear in her eyes as she looked up at him, and his boiling blood only faltered a fraction.

“Do you wish to continue?” he asked her, his voice hard as granite. 

_ Wake her up. _

She sat up, but only just. “What do you plan to do?” There was an edge of uncertainty in her tone. He was definitely scaring her. 

He didn’t care.

He placed his hands on her knees and abruptly pulled her thighs apart. She squeaked, startled, and the sound sent a dangerous thrill through him. My, my, my, she was quite wet already.  _ Wild woman _ . He stepped between her legs, his heavy arousal grazing her, and she trembled, moved her hips against him ever so slightly. He moved in response, just so, and she gasped.

He grinned down at her, electrified by her sounds, and he could see from his reflection in her eyes that his smile was not kind. He looked crazed, like a man possessed. 

He was.

_ Wake her up. _

“What am I going to do? Why, darling, I am going to devour you.”

“...Devour me?”

Oh no, he did not like the sound of her voice then. The fire was gone; the boldness, replaced completely with apprehension. Of all the times to get second thoughts—

Aidon let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Yes, my dear,” he snapped, irritated beyond words. “Devour you. Claim you. Put my face between your thighs and fuck your virgin quim with my tongue, and make your toes curl like you’ve made mine.” He chuckled, mirthless. “It’s only fair.”

“I thought…I thought we were speaking in metaphors?”

“Fuck’s sake.” He stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked down at her, realized that her shivering came more from fear now than desire, and he cursed himself for being a brute and a cad. “What a fool I’ve been,” he said, miserable. 

“Aidon?” She looked at him now, tears in her eyes. He felt all the anger drain out of him, and he swayed on his feet, unsteady. She was a woman full grown, yes, that much was true—but Demeter had kept her ignorant and naive, and he should have known better than to push her too far, in a fantasy that she had conjured up for her own pleasure, and not his. He swallowed hard; his head was pounding now.  _ Should’ve just let her touch you like she wanted to, you brute.  _ Instead he played the part of a licentious pervert. He cursed, and cursed again when she started weeping.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he said, reaching for her hand. To his surprise, she accepted it, and he ran his thumb along the tops of her knuckles. “You did nothing wrong. You were not ready for that, and I should’ve known. I  _ did _ know. Please, forgive an old fool of a man.”

She said nothing, only lightly squeezed his hand in response. 

_ Wake her up now, you idiot. _

He leaned over her, though his body screamed at him for release. 

“Aidon, what are you—”

He kissed the top of her head, leaned down toward her ear. 

“Wake up,” he said, revelling at how she trembled, now again in desire, at just the sound of his voice. Good. He could work with that. “Wake up, sweet Kora, and I will make you my wife, properly.” 

“Aidon?”

“Wake up.”

He was shaking. No—someone was shaking him. He blinked, then started awake, nearly falling from his throne. 

“Apologies, Sire,” Xeo said, stepping back reverently and bowing low. “I didn’t mean to startle you. The Lord Hypnos told me not to wake you unless something happened, said you needed rest.”

Aidon sat back in his throne, rubbed his bleary and bloodshot eyes. “What’s happened, Xeo?” he asked, yawning. Now that he had slept, he felt that he needed even more sleep. Exhaustion radiated from each of his muscles, creaked in each of his bones. All those years he’d been avoiding sleep, crashing down on him all at once. Perfect.

_ I will need to find Hypnos and deal with him later _ , Aidon thought. 

“Your betrothed, Your Grace.”

Aidon looked pointedly at his squire. He ignored how his heart sped up. “What about her?”

“She’s finally awake, my King.” 


End file.
